


Synthetic

by Tutti_writes



Series: Synthetic [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Katsuki Yuuri, BAMF Victor Nkiforov, Cyberpunk, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Future Fic, Futuristic drug trafficking, I doubt anyone will want to but please do not repost, Kidnapping and dramatic rescues, Love Confessions, M/M, Makkachin Lives, Mild Gore, Multiple Sex Positions, Mutual Pining, Nanobots keep her immortal, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Katsuki Yuuri, POV Victor Nikiforov, Post apocalyptic type war, Skater Victor Nikiforov, Slow Burn, Violence, also, android yuuri, as most 2k20 fics are tbh, betaed by the best, but it ends sweetly, eventually, everyone is pretty badass tbh, hold this tag when it gets rough, human trafficking of OCs-non graphic/non sexual, if they were alive in canon then they will stay alive in this fic I swear it, literal finger guns, roller derby of doom, some retelling of canon, threats of rape but no actual rape I will explain this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:02:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 95,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22703635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tutti_writes/pseuds/Tutti_writes
Summary: They call Synthetic love.2049-After an earthshattering war, humankind struggles against an international epidemic of low birth rates, chronic disconnection, and deep loneliness. The solution to these problems lies with the SHIP Institute and their cutting edge technology, Synthetic.Synthetic is a compound that recreates the sensations of affection, attachment, and even love if it serves the function -- and androids endowed with Synthetic are the perfect tools to collect human reproductive samples and deliver them to willing surrogates.Victor Nikiforov, Russia's hero of the ice and son of the world's two most beloved war heroes, finds himself chosen as a donor. When he arrives in Detroit, Michigan at the SHIP Institute to provide his contribution, he discovers much more than the pleasure he expected; a beautiful Synthetic named Yuuri.
Relationships: Christophe Giacometti & Victor Nikiforov, Katsuki Yuuri & Yuri Plisetsky, Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky, Phichit Chulanont & Katsuki Yuuri, Phichit Chulanont/Christophe Giacometti
Series: Synthetic [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1830661
Comments: 446
Kudos: 263





	1. Serum

**Author's Note:**

> Music for the Chapter
> 
> Boy Robot-Simon Curtis  
> [Boy Robot](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PI593AtYiAE&feature=youtu.be)
> 
> If you’d like to follow me for updates on Twitter or Tumblr, please click below!  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/tutti_writes)  
> [Tumblr](https://tutsibug.tumblr.com/)

_It drips like oil through a sieve. Clear, crystalized serum responding to an algorithm of factors, oozing out its opaque goo like a singular rain drop plopping into the ocean, rippling outward. What defines human existence? It begins the same, triggering dopamine that reacts to the booster drives along with norepinephrine, the fans inside spurring to cool down the rapid electrical pulses as the serotonin begins_ _to pull forward, mixing with oxytocin at the right moment to begin._

_None of this is the same as what the body organically produces, but in androids, it garners the same effect. Attachment, attraction even, and bonds._

_They call it Synthetic.xpresses,_

_Synthetic is…love._

At least, that was what the monochromatic pamphlet rolled into Victor’s palm expressed in lazy, formulaic script. The photo centered on a woman, eyes dropped until almost closed, blonde hair cascading over her shoulders as she plastered a plastic smile over her face, looking down at the newborn in her arms. Underneath, the words _Synthetic Heart Induction Program_ stood out in an obnoxious bold font. The crest of his blue eyes diverted swiftly as he turned away, not wanting to find the similarities between that smile and his own in the most recent photographs lining the sports magazines. He whapped the folded print over his leg, scratching along his black jeans as he tapped impatiently, his loafer swinging in the air in time with the paper. Dark fabric creased as he pinched it, lifting the sleeve of his suit jacket to reveal the watch underneath, gold, of course. An antique he still held on to from his family.

An exaggerated sigh escaped his lips, his breath tingling the bottom of his pout. Tilting his head back, he focused on the ceiling, squinting at the harsh overhead light beaming down. Anytime now, they should call him. It didn’t take this long, did it? Splotches of purply-black dots formed in front of his eyes as he snapped his head down quickly, the sweep of the door opening catching his attention.

Before he got the chance to fully take in the woman before him, she squeaked, her small hands whipping up as she used the tablet in them to shield her face. “Five-time world champion Victor Nikiforov!” If her nose could spurt blood from the pressure of her zeal, it would. It was awed praise he knew well, though it shocked Victor a bit to hear it in such a clinical place as this. He defaulted to his tried and true method of feigning modesty, tilting his chin down as he lifted his shoulder as just the right angle so his silver fringe barely skated along his jawline, and took sincere internal pleasure at watching the woman’s eyes linger on the clean-cut lines of his bone structure. Maybe they’d use him to model the next line of A.I. to come out after this. Who knew, right? Anything was possible in 2049.

Victor watched her brush herself off and take a moment to compose herself. Her bobbed auburn hair fell back into place as she shook it out before extending her hand. “It’s a pleasure. I’m one of the schedulers and technicians, Dr. Nishigori,” she said, more professional than the squeal of one of Victor’s plethora of fans.

He held out his hand before clasping Dr. Nishigori’s, firm but not enough to hurt someone of her petite stature. “Just…Victor,” he started, but the grit of her teeth made him try instead, “Or Mr. Nikiforov is fine.”

Her smile was a mix of enthusiasm and residual embarrassment, but endearing to Victor all the same, and he returned it with his own welcoming grin as she nodded. “Alright, Mr. Nikiforov.” Her Japanese accent was barely noticeable, except for a few slightly elongated vowels. “Thank you for being so accommodating to our request. To say you fit the profile for a donor is an understatement.”

“Oh, well thank you,” he responded, remembering the electronic mail he got from SHIP and how it sounded more like an order than a request. He had scrolled up and down, reading it over and over to look for a way to avoid it, but the only wiggle room he could find was “At your earliest convenience,” at the bottom. After winning the Grand Prix Final for the fifth consecutive time, his coach, Yakov, had told him in no uncertain terms that now was, indeed, his earliest convenience. As Dr. Nishigori turned, pressing open the door, Victor stifled a laugh, mouthing Yakov’s gruff goodbye, “Just do it and get your ass back here!” as he walked through the threshold from the waiting area to the clinic.

The sterile scent of too much antiseptic and bleach wafted through the air, churning his stomach bitterly as he followed along after Dr. Nishigori, her white coat almost reaching the floor even with heels on. She clicked her tongue to the roof of her mouth with a popping sound as she leaned over to scan through information on her tablet, the blue light washing out her pale face until she looked ghostly. “Never been a smoker?”

“No,” he answered, his eyes wandering around the hallway, the white walls almost luminescent in the bright light.

“You already did your blood test. No history of disease, illness, or injury?”

“No.”

“Any family history—”

Victor interjected, “Ah, that should be in the notes. I don’t know very much about my family history.” _They died in the last war,_ he didn’t add. Everyone knew that living legend Victor Nikiforov was also the only heir of the famous Nikiforov mech pilots who helped end the last war, at the cost of their own lives. If Victor could erase the pitying stares he got whenever it was brought up, he’d take the largest eraser in the world and scratch everything out. He didn’t need pity; he had charm.

The tips of the doctor’s bangs fluttered as she shrank back, recoiling at her prompting. “Ah, that’s right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.”

“It’s alright,” Victor replied, pausing as they turned down another hallway. Framed pictures lined the way, a few of the earliest droid replicas to receive Synthetic. His eyes stayed on one, a photograph of a woman, her appearance young but Victor had to presume she was older than she looked considering she was receiving an award for bringing peace to the nations with Synthetic. His eyes scanned over the gold plaque, the text imprinted in italicized black as he read, “ _Doctor Minako Okuwaka, renowned scientist and surgeon, receives international recognition for her innovative serum, Synthetic, after the first successful simulation_ _of love in an android. This day marks the first in moving together with A.I. towards a harmonic future.”_

“After procuring your sample, we’ll be able to create three or four new lives…at least.” Dr. Nishigori stated, her nose buried in the data on the sheets in front of her tablet as if she were sniffing out clues to find Victor’s future offspring.

“Three or four?!?” Victor nearly choked on his tongue as he coughed and swallowed at the same time.

“Well, of course, taking into consideration the probability of success and fertility variants of the female donors, it would fall into that range, I’m sure. The virility of your sperm is admirable,” she explained, her index finger moving along the screen as she spoke. The tips of Victor’s ears pinked at the words. Of all the compliments he’d received in his lifetime, admirable sperm was not on the list. He chewed on the inside of his cheek absentmindedly, trying to come up with a response, before Dr. Nishigori turned, a hint of her maroon blouse now visible beneath the lapels of her coat. “Would you like a tour before we go to the procurement chamber?” she asked, gesturing to a white-painted door.

_Procurement chamber, even the rooms you have sex in sound clinical._ “Sure,” he agreed, pushing his thoughts to the side. A chilly draft swept over him as the door opened, even for a Russian, raising goosebumps along his skin. Dr. Nishigori's heels echoed as they clicked with each step, the only noise cutting through the quiet. More white walls and bright lights kept all darkness at bay, but this time they appeared to be spot lights, trained on the figures on display. His fingers felt along the red velvet rope, the only barrier between him and what he was seeing. Each figure was unique, and nothing like the silver, tin can likenesses of storybooks and comics. Their lifelike features looked as if they could draw breath at any moment, hair and eyes and mouths and bodies of all shapes and sizes.

“What do you think?”

“They’re—” Victor paused. Unless someone told him, he would assume he was looking at perfectly preserved human specimens, not androids. He swallowed thickly as he leaned in closer, almost nose to nose with a stout ginger-haired girl.

“Pretty neat, huh? Each one of SHIP’s Synthetics is completely unique in form, physique, even in some aspects of programming, giving them a truly lifelike look and demeanor,” Dr. Nishigori explained, walking down the row of androids. “Are you familiar with the Greeks’ philosophy on love, Mr. Nikiforov?”

Pulled from his stare, Victor turned on his heel to catch up, his brown loafers scuffing against the waxed floor, leaving a matte imprint. “Ah, yes. Each term for love represented a different type, right?” 

“Correct. SHIP focuses on each type of love in its own design track.” Dr. Nishigori gestured to a display of androids at the end of the row. “Agape. Unconditional love,” she sighed happily.

The androids’ frozen features unsettled Victor, their lifeless manakin state crawling over his skin like an ill-fitting sweater, constricting and itchy, but he looked them over as if appraising art in a museum. Even with all their differences, they each wore that same doll smile. The plastic one. He silently noted the differences and similarities as he strolled down the line, nodding up and down until he reached one seemingly out of place.

His blue eyes fixated on the shining, straw-colored hair just brushing the male droid’s chin. Green eyes swirled with hints of teal as he looked forward. Even completely motionless, his eyes wore an anger befitting someone in the midst of a fight. The corners of his mouth drawn tight, his jaw almost clenched. Something felt off-putting as Victor stared back into the android’s eyes, open and unblinking as if even in its lifelessness it still carried a persona of some sort in its torpor. Curiosity grabbed hold of him before he could catch his tongue. “Why does that one have a scowl if it is an Agape model?” he asked, pointing at the android in question. 

“Everyone shows love differently. Yuri is specifically tailored for a Ms. Baranoskya. She’s coming to pick him up today,” Dr. Nishigori stated, her face wearing a look of satisfaction as she glanced over at the Yuri droid, nodding her head approvingly.

Lifting his index finger to rest over his lip as he pondered, Victor took one more glance, noticing the delicate but well-formed muscle definition, the poised stature—a fierce beauty. If Victor had had any siblings, he imagined one could have been a brother quite like this.

The android fit tight, clad in a white bodysuit, like all of the Agapes, glittered with silver winding down the arm and shoulder, resting just over the chest like a wild twine of vines. Victor began to wonder about the function of the different lines. All the articles and news he read stated over and over that the Synthetics were designed to be near human on every level, able to feel emotions, love. Any type of love could probably be experienced in any line, not just one. “Is the Agape line also capable of…” He trailed off, tracing his finger through the air as if along the android’s silhouette.

Twisting her head around curiously, Dr. Nishigori steadied her mahogany eyes to assess what question Victor was asking. Mouthing an _oh_ , she flitted her head upwards in agreement as she spoke. “All our lines are capable of synthesizing all human experiences, including sex, though most people who choose the Agape models choose them for companionship.”

“I see.”

“Not surprising, really. No one’s reproducing these days.” She sighed. “Dr. Okuwaka's primary concern is human repopulation. The benefit of reproduction is one of the reasons the government funds SHIP. That’s why you’re here, after all.”

“Right.” He nodded, following behind as she once again strode forward, her finger tapping against the screen of her tablet. Everything about this place was orderly and pristine, nothing out of place, nothing surprising. Victor was beginning to grow bored, the newness of the androids already starting to wear off like a video he’d already seen a thousand times. He searched the room for something, anything, to hold his attention. He looked down at Dr. Nishigori, her body the only one moving and open for conversation in the vicinity, and settled on talking. “Do you have children, Dr. Nishigori?”

“Yes! Three, actually. Triplets! They’re big fans of yours.”

“Oh really?” he inquired. Fans of his were something he could get behind. Were they skaters or did they know him from his modeling?

“Yes, I, ahh…used to skate,” she answered, her voice wavering as if uncertain, and Victor wondered if there wasn’t something more to the story as he watched her eyes shift.

“Oh! A skater!” The thrill of talking about skating drummed a roll low and steady in his veins. He looked down at her. She was young, maybe late twenties, and her petite body still held the form of a dancer. “What made you stop skating?” he dared to ask.

The tension in her shoulders almost stiffened her ramrod straight, but she laughed nervously despite the obvious rise in agitation. “There was an…accident,” she said, her voice straining on the end of the word accident, as if she had practiced saying it over and over but still couldn’t get it right.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Victor bowed his head as he spoke.

“It’s fine!” Dr. Nishigori waved her arms in front of her face, smiling cordially as she reassured Victor. It didn’t feel fine. It felt like he wanted to dial up the charm to eleven and pull out his best pout in order to find out why, but she stopped mid-wave and turned around awkwardly, throwing her arm out like she was showing off a trophy case. “Next, Philia.”

“Love of friendship? Brothers in arms?” he questioned, his eyes catching on the thin metallic armor gleaming over the breast of each individual droid. They were much broader than the Agape line, and from what Victor could see, sturdier, certainly less delicate than Yuri.

“Correct again,” she confirmed, getting one of his most photogenic winks for her praise. Dr. Nishigori seemed to respond to it, as the tablet dropped lower, the tension from before melting under Victor’s attention. With a shake of her head, she continued, “They said you were a genius, but I’m still impressed! Yes, this line is typically used for military purposes.”

“The new soldiers?”

“Mhm. Most of the androids will not sacrifice themselves for others, they are built with preservation programming, but the Philia model is unique. It will jump on a mine for a human in the field, act as a shield for an entire unit.”

“Wow!” he exclaimed, shielding his mouth with his hand as it gaped in surprise.

The inside of the android echoed, a hollow sound bouncing off the walls as Dr. Nishigori tapped the ridge of its sternum with her knuckle. “Pure titanium. They’re virtually indestructible….and pricey. Well, that’s all I can tell you. Would you like to see the video?”

_Not if it’s as lifeless as these dolls,_ he thought, shaking a shudder off his shoulder as he turned away from the androids, giving her his famous winning-gold smile. “Of course.”

After a few presses of a finger, she turned the tablet, the blue light projecting a makeshift screen in the air. The hologram screen felt like old technology compared to what resided in this room, or even his flat in St. Petersburg, but he added false intrigue to his plastic smile and stared at the image in front of him.

Introductory music filtered through the tablet speakers, a generic rumble of sounds trying to create a thrill, a sense of grandeur, and Victor seriously considered leaving his composer’s information with Dr. Nishigori before he left that day. As the music faded, video played with a neutral-toned female voice over the footage. “ _What is life? Organic? Evolutionary?”_ she asked as images of blossoming lilacs turned into crops of wheat blowing in the wind, and finally, into a human child laughing. “ _Every living thing is a program. The human brain is a program that gives us function, purpose, and the ability to love.”_ She continued on as a few seconds of a man laughing played, his grey suit without a wrinkle as he stepped through a portal and resurfaced in what Victor could only imagine was some sort of office. As the screen faded to black, a new scene emerged—clips from the war. Victor averted his eyes as a mech soared through the air.

_“The war of 2025 showed us the problem of automation introduced in society without these lifelike characteristics,”_ the narrator said, and the screen changed to a video he knew all too well. His mother and father stood at the loading dock, clad in their pilot’s uniform, the beige completely offsetting to his mother’s shoulder length silver hair. They each waved to the crowd with one hand while the other held their helmet. _A lot of good that helmet did_ , Victor thought, bitterness woven and stitched into that thought, a quilt of anger he kept tattered and torn throughout the years, staying only because it remained. On screen, the woman said something about the war, but Victor couldn’t bother himself to hear her. 

_“Technology today makes life convenient. Between the casualty rate of the war, and the comfort of modern innovation, humanity has reached a problem: The lowest population increase globally in recorded history.”_ The video flipped again and the woman from the framed photograph was on screen, her brown hair falling to her waist, almost covering her lab coat. Her fingers clutched at the podium in front of her as she leaned into the mic, mouthing something with her eyebrows fiercely knitted together. _“…Dr. Minako Okuwaka sought to bridge this gap. With Synthetic, a new type of droid is born,”_ the narrator explained as the black screen filtered back to the same woman. Her name and likeness had been on every SHIP pamphlet and advertisement he’d gotten over the past five years. He met her brown eyes as she nodded, listening to the question from an off-screen interviewer, “ _Yes, I created Synthetics to be able to mirror the human experience. To learn, to adapt. Synthetic itself gives the android the ability to experience something completely unknown to them, something not factorable…love. I couldn’t just program it and tell it to give the appearance of love, that wouldn’t work. It had to be real. Synthetic is, for all intents and purposes, real. Synthetics enjoy things. They have likes and dislikes that are beyond their functions,”_ she declared, her voice tactile and evocative, and Victor could sense her conviction behind each syllable spoken.

Text wound around as the narrator began to speak again, the words forming in block lettering, white against the backdrop of the world as trumpets sounded triumphantly in the background _. “The Storge Initiative, SHIP’s promise to bring humanity back, offers a modern approach to repopulation.”_ Victor had seen the reports, the staggering drop in human births per year, a minuscule percentage compared to only a century ago. No one needed to reproduce if they can get satisfaction from a droid. That was what all the anti A.I. propaganda said in the flyers that fluttered on his devices, so much he couldn’t even listen to his music without an advertisement for the importance of pure human conception popping up before he could even press play. SHIP was close to being shut down before the Storge Initiative started. _“Now, anyone can begin a family. Each child produced is placed in the arms of a human to care for. Together with the Synthetics, we can build a better human race. Synthetic is love. Synthetic is life. Synthetic is hope.”_

“Now for the model you’ve been sent here to see…Eros!”

“Sexual pleasure,” Victor answered the question not spoken.

"One just drowns in it, wouldn’t you say?” Dr. Nishigori’s hair flipped past her shoulder as she turned her head to look behind her, her rose-tinted cheeks growing redder as she caught Victor’s gaze. She had the look of a woman who played at being sweet, but something deeper dwelled below the surface. With a guttural cough dislodging the dust of that thought, she continued, leading them out of the display room and into another maze of hallways. “And these beauties are designed to simulate a real experience. They are virtually parallel to a human in every way. There are two separate models for Eros, one for simple pleasure and the other for reproduction.”

“What do the reproduction models enjoy?” Victor asked. The walls and stench of stale, sterile air began to cage him in, leaving his breath stifled in his lungs.

“Breeding,” she stated matter-of-factly as she pressed the elevator call button “It’s their entire program design. To be impregnated and to impregnate others.” _An impregnable Eros,_ Victor thought as a smirk lifted the corner of his mouth. The thought was…almost inspiring. A bit of music, step sequences…the tiny formation of his own creation started to bubble in his brain, taking him away from the droll cubicle walls of the elevator as it all but instantaneously lifted. “So you indicated a male preference, correct?”

“Yes. Is that a problem?” Victor didn’t foresee it being a problem. Decades had passed since anyone had had a problem with anyone else being attracted to either gender, as long as they were human, of course. As the human race began to dwindle, people replacing human affection for robotic, the once deep lines separating gendered attraction were redrawn to that of human versus droid.

“No, not at all!” her voice squeaked out an almost embarrassed reassurance. “Our Eroses are made for any sexual or binary preference,” she stated as she pinned her eyes back to the screen in front of her, leaving a faint trace of glistening residue on the black leather case, sweat seeping through just enough to leave the shadow of moisture in its wake. “Let’s see… Per your survey, I believe I have the right one. Younger, Asian appearance, smaller preferred over larger in stature…” She continued as the heavy metal doors slid open, depositing them on the top floor.

The white walls were replaced with blue, the pastel understated and calming in a way that made Victor perk up enough to a grin. At least these walls weren’t white, but they were still bare. With nothing to hold his attention—whatever Dr. Nishigori was babbling about didn’t concern him, really—his mind wandered back to the night before. The steel of the barstool cut into his posterior in a way that he could still feel walking, and not at all in the good way.

Chris, the only reason he was even here in the first place, had insisted on celebrating. Not wanting to venture out into Detroit’s college dive bar scene, Victor had settled on the hotel bar. The backlight flickered as he downed the remaining bits of what the bartended called a Pussy Whipper, causing Victor to nearly choke on his own tongue while biting back his laugh at the irony.

“Another drink!” Chris had called to the bartender. Each side of his middle-parted hair flipped as he turned around, his carefree grin freeing some of the tension that had built within Victor.

“Oh, Chris it’s not that big of a deal!” Victor had scolded, laughing freely.

“But it is!” Chris had affirmed, clasping his shoulder as he shook him back and forth. After all, Chris would always be Chris, the same free spirit who had followed one step behind Victor their entire skating career. His fingers grabbed at the edge of his glass, the caramel-colored liquor swirling as he teased, “You’re finally getting your very own love machine! Losing that AV-card! I’m impressed…and jealous.”

Victor had shaken his head, laughing heartily at the joke, the nostalgic word for an audiovisual worker he had seen in very old films turned infamous android virginity card. “It’s not like I’m against it. I just haven’t had…a need for it,” he said, nodding to the bartender as his next drink landed in front of him with a thud against the wooden bartop. “What’s this one called?” he’d asked as he stared at the pale pink liquid fading into maroon, his silver fringe tickling the edge of the counter as he tilted his head to inspect, as if the answer could somehow swirl from the glass itself.

A Cheshire cat grin had stretched over the bartender’s face, his cheeks nearly covering his eyes in his own amusement as he cackled. “Slippery Nipple,” his accent crushed the p sound until it was almost a w. His face hidden as he turned to leave, Victor heard the chuckle carry down to the other end of the bar. The fuse of surprise thoroughly sparked, Victor spat, his eyes widening as his mouth gaped open in shock.

Chris’s sides had splintered with laughter, his hand clutching his own abdomen in his amusement. Victor sipped silently, the sweet strawberry cream rather delightful despite the name as he waited for Chris to stop laughing. When he could finally maintain more than a moment of composure, Chris shook his head, wiping a tear from the corner of each eye. He ran his fingers through his hair, tousling the blond strands as he cooled down. “I wouldn’t call a two-year dry spell not having a need for it.”

“Mhm. Maybe you should hold off until you actually win gold,” Victor had said, his petulant grin seeming to wear thin on Chris’s nerves as he recoiled, slinging back the rest of his whiskey.

“Look, they’re great. They are programmed or something to know exactly what you want. All of it. Even the kinky stuff. And they don’t care or get weird about it. They come in all types. They’ll even give you that Asian thing you’re into.”

“Chris!”

“It’s not like I’m any different. My taste for Asian is just a little spicier than yours. Mine’s Thai,” Chris had said, giving Victor that overdramatic wink that sold his sex appeal to the masses. He’d even lifted his mouth into a smirk, stubble splaying like a feline on the prowl.

“How long have you and…” Victor's hand had gestured in circles as he sought the name.

“Phichit.”

“Yes, how long have you been seeing him?”

“Two years now? I think. He’s great! I see him a few times a year. More often during the offseason.” Right. The entire reason Victor had even considered this is because Chris said he was going anyways. Still, uncertainty plagued him like an unknown disease. Lacking confidence in decision making was not something Victor was used to. Then again, the census didn’t really grant him the ability to make his own decision…

“…he’s not as popular as other models.” Victor caught the tail end, derailing him from his memory as he blinked to focus on Dr. Nishigori instead as she continued, “But he has one of the highest numbers in repeat clients. Once they have him, they can’t seem to want to stop.” Dr. Nishigori’s soft tone suggested that whatever this Eros model did, people enjoyed it

“Why isn’t he as popular?”

Her mouth drew into a thin line as she hesitated, apparently trying to find the words. Holding her hand forward, she beckoned Victor to follow as she pushed through the door. The steel swung open easily under her light touch, sweeping outward and inviting Victor to step through. “He’s more…delicate than the others. Androids who have malfunctions in their equipment can have what you or I experience as a panic attack. It can be alarming for clients to have to worry about when they are supposed to be enjoying themselves. He’s…required more maintenance than other androids. SHIP always wants to maintain transparency. That’s why I’m telling you. You can decline to meet him, if you wish.”

“No, it’s alright.” Victor nodded. The thrill of something out of the ordinary tingled in his veins, pulsing rapidly as his heartbeat thrummed in his chest, his blue eyes gaining a shimmer as his interest piqued.

“Then follow me this way.” Dr. Nishigori swept her arm to usher them farther into a hallway littered with doors on either side. She turned at the last one at the end of the hall, pressing her thumb to the cool metal pad until it unlocked with a clink.

“Yuuri, this is Victor. Your new client,” Dr. Nishigori said, gesturing in introduction. Seated on a plush navy couch was a young man, shoulders slumped and folded in on himself.

“Vi-Victoruu,” he tried, dragging the ending into a vowel with a twinge of an accent still clinging to it, eyes fixated on his feet. _They even got the accent right. Wow!_ Victor couldn’t help but smile at the thought, broad, sweet, and for the first time in a long time, absolutely genuine. He could see the soft curve of Yuuri’s long black lashes fluttering as he chanced a look up, almost shy, unsure. His long hair was tousled, parted to the side, so dark it appeared like night spilling into day against his snowy skin in a way that made Victor want to run his fingers through it. Then he turned.

Brown eyes, with a depth Victor had never seen before, looked up at him, the outer ring of the iris tinted red while the entirety glittered like he wanted something, was searching for something deep in Victor’s soul, and Victor would have done anything to pluck it out and give it to him. Blood rose beneath Yuuri’s skin, the surprise in those warm brown eyes becoming a flush barely tinting his nose and cheeks pink. His eyes widened as a gasp sprung free, and shock ran through Victor like lines of electricity at a voltage that made his heartbeat rapid and wanting.

No, Victor wasn’t prepared for this at all. Without any time to process, Victor beamed, his voice resonating with a joy he hadn’t felt since his blades touched the ice for the first time.

“Yuuri!”


	2. Programming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor gets a taste of the Eros Model Synthetic, Yuuri.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music for the Chapter
> 
> Flesh-Simon Curtis  
> [Flesh](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mEfKooMunLI&feature=youtu.be)

A warm glow settled on Yuuri’s shoulders from the lamp, tinting his shoulders a hue of yellow as he fidgeted with his suit sleeves. The ill-fitting suit jacket slung over his shoulders convinced Victor that androids must not be programmed with any sense of fashion. Who the hell would put someone with a small frame in a suit with the shoulder width pushing out centimeters past his own? They should burn it, the entire suit. Yet, when Yuuri looked up again, warily maintaining eye contact as he worried his bottom lip, Victor paused. 

“Ah, hello, Yuuri?” Victor tried again, this time dialing back the elation to a more subdued tone.

“H-hello, V-Victor,” Yuuri stuttered out a reply as he clicked the back of his loafers, light gleaming off the black polish. Nervous. That wasn’t something Victor expected from all of the advertisements, not to mention the locker room talk about the Eros models. What could possibly make an A.I. respond like this?

The door popped open behind them, just enough to drag Victor’s attention over. Tips of bleached blond hair poked through the opening before a boy slunk in through the sliver of a crack in the door. “YUUURI-kun! I need to run a diagnostic before you begin!” he all but shrieked, the ecstatic cry reverberating off the walls with such force even the potted plant’s green leaves shook. His ID badge flipped over and over on its lanyard as he walked further into the room, Victor just catching the SHIP Technician in block text as it turned back around.

“Ah, should I leave?” Victor asked, not wanting to pry.

Dr. Nishigori shook her head. “No, this will only take a little while. Thank you for coming, Minami.”

With a nod, Minami hiked his arm, stuffing the rattling grey box he carried in the crook of his elbow as he moved toward Yuuri. Wordlessly, he fumbled through the contents, squirming back and forth as he settled into the cushion next to Yuuri. Victor kept his eyes on Yuuri, watching the lackluster response as he stared vacantly forward. A whining screech drove Victor from his thoughts as he caught the whistling of the device held in Minami’s hand. The grey box looked somewhat antique in its bulky rectangular form, but Minami widely smiled at it. “We finally got a new one!” he chirped, buzzing happily to himself as he bopped his fingers along the screen.

“Oh, that’s good, Minami,” Yuuri intoned, his voice almost flaccid.

“It…shouldn’t spark this time.” Minami grimaced at his words. Apparently, whatever memory it brought to the surface was enough to cause some hesitance. Yuuri’s fingers popped open the buttons of his dress shirt, opening it enough for whatever Minami needed to do. A flash of red blipped over Yuuri’s forearm as a beep sounded from the device in Minami’s hand, jagged black lines appearing and disappearing like a secret written in lemon juice script. A barcode, maybe, Victor deduced, placing his hand over his chin as he pondered the thought.

“All Synthetics are encrypted with their own personal identification code,” Dr. Nishigor explained as if she could sense his quandary, holding her hand out to motion toward Yuuri.

“Like a box of cereal?”

“Mhm. A little more complicated. The code has all of Yuuri’s stats on it, what his levels are. It should let us know ahead of time if he’s at risk of a malfunction.” Thick black brows knit together in agitation and Yuuri’s arm recoiled to curl against his chest. It looked as if he didn’t enjoy his malfunction being brought up. Not surprising; Victor presumed even androids had to have some sense of pride. Obviously seeing Yuuri’s flinching, Dr. Nishigori tried to make a quick recovery, spinning her voice quickly. “But Minami’s been doing a great job with Yuuri! He trained under Minako, Dr. Okuwaka.”

“Really?”

“One of the youngest out of the institute. He’s really taken a liking to Yuuri.”

Minami perked up, the swash of red on his fringe puffing out as his eyes twinkled, “Yuuri-kun is soo cool!” he exclaimed. “He’s not like other—” His train of thought was derailed by a throttling high-pitched noise emanating from the device in his hands. He whapped it a few times, shrinking down in embarrassment. “Sorry, I got one of the codes wrong.” His eyes flitted over the screen, reading the data streaming in random digits and letters Victor couldn’t piece together.

An awkward silence fell into the lull as Victor stood, trying to piece together the idea of the Eros droid with the figure in front of him. With his eyes cast to the floor, he seemed small, out of sorts, not oozing with seduction like the android Chris had spoken of. When Chris relived his own Eros experiences, he’d flutter his long lashes, flaunt his most come-hither grin, and let his baritone voice drip out like smoothly. Of course, Victor didn’t know whether to laugh or shiver at the idea, but the thought lingered in the back of his mind enough that he found himself here, looking at someone more prepared for a funeral than a dalliance, except for the spark of fire brimming in Yuuri’s eyes every time he caught his gaze. 

Minami peeled himself away from the screen, puffing happily as he tapped the last pieces of information in, closing the lid with a snap. “Alright! I’m done!”

“Everything in order?” Dr. Nishigori asked, her voice tinged with positive expectancy even as she bit her lip anxiously.

Minami snapped his head up, nodding furiously until he became a swirl of blonde and red over his white lab coat. “Yes. Everything’s set up! Yuuri-kun will perform sooooo good! Optimal!” His voice pitched higher with every new phrase. He leapt up, giving a singular nod before slinking back through the cracked door.

“All right, then, I think everything is ready. I’ll leave you two alone. Please, take your time. Enjoy,” Dr. Nishigori said, noticeably trying to keep her face from reddening. Victor imagined she strove not to think of all the ways Victor could and would enjoy himself. A knowing smile crept over Victor’s face even as he tried to feign innocence, nodding and waving as she hurried to exit.

The room grew colder in her absence. Maybe because Victor now was the only one in the room emitting any sort of body heat, maybe because androids needed a certain colder temperature for their internal structures, Victor couldn’t quite decide which he thought was most likely. He turned his attention to gaze back down at the mop of black hair wafting back and forth as Yuuri’s leg bounced. Victor watched as he slowly raked his fingers through his hair, matting the strands down until they lay slick against his scalp, a sheen almost like gel gleaming against the light as he looked up.

“Victor.” Yuuri’s voice rang softly, enticingly in his direction as those eyes beckoned him home as if bound to shore by their light alone. There was something infectiously sweet in his tone, but still assertive. With one fluid movement, Yuuri rose from his seat, his imprint still warm on the cushion as he strode in front of Victor, playfully dancing his fingers over Victor’s collarbone. The softest lips brushed against his cheek as he heard the inviting tone of his voice once more. “Are you ready to begin?”

Oh. OH!

This was the Eros Model.

“Ah— Why don’t we talk first?” Victor suggested. The pit of heat in his groin protested furiously at the idea. Why the hell would he want to talk when this beautiful, captivating young body was right in front of him, literally designed to pleasure him?

“You want to talk?” Yuuri tilted his head to the side, wearing a quizzical look as if his mechanisms might have stopped. Victor bridged on the edge of asking when Yuuri shrugged.

“Yes. I’d love to get to know you more.”

Yuuri looked like he was thinking it over, cocking his head to the side as his eyes traveled down Victor’s body. “Mhhh…how about you sit and talk…and I’ll dance for you? Would you like that?” Yuuri’s voice was so smooth as he patted either side of Victor’s shoulders, and Victor audibly hitched a breath. With a firm push, Victor’s legs flew out from under him, landing him on the couch. Bouncing into place, his eyes swept along the lines of Yuuri’s pants. Even in an untailored pair of dress pants, Victor couldn’t help but stare at the round curve of Yuuri’s ass, swallowing hard as his mouth ran dry from lust as Yuuri bent over the screen, his scrolling through the available music.

The thrum of a bassline began and Yuuri started swaying his hips, seamlessly syncing to the beat as he turned. Victor leaned his head to his side, eyes running along every curve of Yuuri’s body winding in front of him in rhythm with the bass. Every part of him looked real, human even. Viktor had to ask, “Have you ever had a lover?”

“That’s not in my programming,” Yuuri answered, not even pausing in his movements.

Crossing one leg over the other, Victor pressed his finger to his lip as he assessed the dance like a program. Arms ran over Yuuri’s head and back down around his hips as he drug his finger down his tie, the smooth silk creasing with his deft movements. Yuuri’s body moved in a way that clung to each pulse of the song like it was his own heartbeat. “No one’s ever taken you one a date? Out to dinner?”

“Why would they?” Yuuri dipped low and snapped his head up, bits of his black strands falling waywardly as he did. That did nothing but make him more alluring, and Victor began to feel the music pulse straight to his cock as it twitched between his crossed legs uncomfortably.

“Is that not something you’re allowed to do? Go out?”

Fingers slipped through the silk fabric of Yuuri’s tie, loosening the strip of fabric until it fell limp in his hand. “No, that’s just not my function?” he paused for a moment as the seductive bass stalled, only to twirl in time with the pickup. He was a siren, Victor was sure of it at this point as he watched the silk tie go from his fingers to around his head. He sauntered in a circle, popping one shirt button at a time as his brown eyes held Victor’s gaze. Victor couldn’t look away; he wouldn’t want to even if he could.

“Then what is your function?”

“This.” The last button opened, revealing taut cream skin. The snare hit at a two/four beat and with every snap Yuuri undid his belt, pulling it through the loops with a whip, the metal clanging against the tile as it hit the floor. With a smirk, his pants dropped to the floor, leaving him in nothing but his socks still clinging to his calves, an open dress shirt, and the most delectable skintight blue boxer briefs Victor had ever laid eyes on. In one movement, Yuuri slung his leg over, draping one on either side of Victor’s lap, hovering above until Victor got the hint to uncross his leg. Yuuri sank down, the plush meat of his ass resting on Victor’s thighs, and Victor held his breath at the feeling. Maybe Chris had been right, that two years was an obnoxious amount of time to go without, but he was busy, right?

Blue eyes sparkled as Victor looked over Yuuri’s body. Yuuri continued to move to the music, abdominals flexing as he rolled his hips over Victor’s lap, leaving Victor restraining himself from reaching up and grabbing hold of that absolutely squeezable ass: pert and round with just enough firm muscle to bounce. Whoever designed Yuuri was an absolute genius. Victor would have to send a note of thanks. “You know…you’d be a really great skater,” Victor said, watching the glide of Yuuri’s full thighs spread open and out.

Yuuri draped his arms over Victor’s shoulders, staring deep into Victor’s eyes with such an earnest glow, Victor completely forgot where he was. Time and space made little since. “Do you want to be my coach then, Victor?”

“I’d…” Victor clicked his tongue as he held in a gasp, feeling Yuuri’s thigh press against his half hard cock through his pants leg. “…really love to coach you”

“Then teach me my Eros,” Yuuri leaned in to whisper, his voice breathy. “Show me what you want.”

“W-what?” Victor could feel his confusion growing, his curiosity boiling over with arousal until he could no longer remember what he was supposed to be doing. Another roll of Yuuri’s hips and Victor could die here, he knew it.

“I’ve read your file. It says a lot about what you’ve done…but not a lot about you. I don’t know what you want,” Yuuri said as he ran his fingers over the top of Victor’s hair, testing.

“I…” He looked up, his smirk dragging on the edges. What did Victor want? The answer was so simple, yet no one had ever guessed correctly. This could be fun. “Let’s play a game then. You can guess what I like…and I’ll tell you if your right,” Victor said, pushing up his arms to hold Yuuri’s shoulders back.

“H-hai!” Yuuri squeaked, possibly caught off guard, the bit of Japanese slipping out rushing straight to Victor’s cock as it strained, beginning to leak where his briefs held it in place. He realized that if he died here, at least he’d die incredibly happy. “Dance with me, then,” Yuuri said as he extended his hand forward, fingers splayed wide and open, eyes glittering with gold flecks.

Not one to deny the opportunity of a dance, especially not with someone who looked like Yuuri, Victor took his hand. With a tug forward, Victor found himself chest to chest with him, his left hand placed on a slim waist as his right twined with Yuuri’s, sticking out straight. As if it could read the room, the music changed, Latin rhythms pulsing through the speakers as the violin peaked. He knew the music as it began; a Paso Doble. After a few spins and some fancy footwork, Yuuri pulled his fingers to his temples, prepped as the bull. As Victor watched at this close distance, he could feel everything he saw in Yuuri’s dancing. His movements were graceful but assertive. He skirted the line between masculine and feminine, culminating in a fluidity that enchanted Victor beyond his wildest imagination. As if seeing colors for the first time, he blended out the grey and accepted the variant hues: red, passion, swirling at his hips, the blue of the cool way Yuuri’s arms delicately positioned themselves into a stance, pops of new life invigorating Victor. Yuuri knew what he wanted and was bound and determined to get it. He’d let Victor lead, then when he felt like it, he took control again. If Victor had ever been swept off his feet, it was in that moment, as he leaned into Yuuri’s arm, dipping backwards as his foot pointed in the air in complete bliss.

Deep, reedy breaths became the only sound as the last bassline faded out, Victor’s own breath coming short as he smiled into the pants. How long had it been since he danced like that? On the rink, yes, but there he danced alone, not with—

“I…I can’t figure it out.” Yuuri interrupted Viktor’s thoughts with his exclamation, pulling his hands through his hair worriedly but wearing an intrigued look. Maybe he was just as amused at this game as Victor was. “Usually, with a dance, I can tell. Some people want to lead. Some want to be led…but you? You really don’t care either way, do you?”

Ah, so close. Victor smiled, fully satisfied, tipping his head forward. “Do you like that, too?” he asked, closing the gap between them until he chanced the opportunity to reach up and cup his cheek. “What do you want, Yuuri?” He let his accent slip, letting the vowels roll on his tongue like a heady wine.

“I want you to fuck me,” he said, and for the first time Victor heard the hint of robotics in his voice, as if he were programmed to say it. _He was programmed to say it,_ Victor reminded himself. But that wouldn’t distract Victor from his play.

With a flick of his wrist, Victor sauntered back over to the couch, paying attention to just how he walked to ensure his own firm ass was in the best view with each step; his pants were tailored perfectly, after all. He plopped down, a coy smile playing on his lips as he rested his arms on the back of the couch. “And what if I want it the other way around?” he asked, gauging Yuuri’s reaction.

“Ummm…well…it doesn’t really work that way…” Right. Victor had to leave his deposit in something—in Yuuri.

“That’s perfect.” The thought of being buried deep inside Yuuri drove him almost to the brink, anyway. Not that he’d object to the other way; it certainly seemed tantalizing. Yet the look on Yuuri’s face as he said the words was everything that Victor wanted. His deep brown eyes sparkled in delight, with want and surprise.

“Really?” Yuuri perked at the words, his eyes carrying that treasure Viktor just saw for first time. Without hesitation, he climbed on Victor’s lap, almost overly enthusiastic in a way Victor found absolutely adorable. Seated firmly atop Victor’s thighs once more, he let his fingers play at the corners of Victor’s eyes as he leaned in. “What is it that you want, Victor Nikiforov? I can give you any desire. I just have to know what it is.”

“I want what you want.”

“I want you, Victor.”

Taking the cue, Victor lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Yuuri’s shoulders. His mouth pressed against Yuuri’s, soft, asking for permission. Yuuri obliged, opening to allow the kiss to deepen as Victor’s hands sought skin, burrowing beneath the white shirt until Yuuri let his arms dangle, the shirt forgotten on the floor. Tongues tangled together, exploring the new sensation of warmth and wetness, leaving Victor unsated. He needed more. His hands gripped tighter until he could count Yuuri’s ribs, pulling him up farther on his lap. Then he heard it.

_Th-thump. Th-thump. Th-thump_

Palm pressed firmly into Yuuri’s back, Victor gasped into the kiss. “I-I can feel your heartbeat!” he exclaimed. Androids have heartbeats? Victor reckoned the question might need to be saved for a time when he wasn’t so hard it was starting to hurt, but he couldn’t help himself. “It’s like you’re real!” His mouth drew a heart shape as his enthusiasm took over.

In one fell swoop, Yuuri grabbed Viktor’s tie, yanking him forward enough to place his lips to his ear. “I feel real inside, too. Put it in and see for yourself,” Yuuri said, slowly rolling his hips to drag those words along his cock. “Do you want to go to the other room?”

Unsticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth in an effort to preserve his soul inside his body, Victor nodded. He threaded his fingers into Yuuri’s as Yuuri led them through the doorway into a dimly lit room. The four-poster bed felt well-furnished and welcoming as he watched Yuuri press his knees into the mattress, crawling forward, his ass bouncing with every movement. Bits of his hair fell as Yuuri turned his head around, those brown eyes murdering any self-restraint Victor had left. In record speed, Victor disrobed, peeling off his suit until the light gleamed on his bare form. 

He smiled as he saw Yuuri’s eyes widen at the sight of his hard length, bouncing with each step forward. Never the one to shy away from his endowments, he made an open show as he climbed on the bed, planting his knees to align with Yuuri’s. His fingers ran down Yuuri’s spine as he dipped to press a kiss on each shoulder blade, earning a quivering sigh in return. His hands swept over soft skin before latching his finger beneath the band of Yuuri’s boxers, sliding in to finally grip the firm round bottom that had been teasing him for so long. He kneaded into it with one hand as the other came inched the fabric down and off. He could easily bury his cock there, Yuuri’s hole visibly twitching as he presented himself. But Victor wanted the savor the moment longer—something about Yuuri made Victor want to keep him as long as he could. His arm circled Yuuri’s waist, pulling him up until his back was firm against Victor’s chest.

Victor dove into pleasure, his tongue tracing Yuuri’s neckline until Yuuri let out a breathy whine, almost begging for Victor to continue. Victor smiled into the kiss he placed beneath Yuuri’s earlobe, relishing the grind against his cock he received in return.

Panting, writhing, Yuuri let out a groan, throwing his head back against Victor’s shoulder. “Nghhh, I need you, Victor.” His whine went straight to Victors cock.

Victor bit his lip hesitantly, “I’m sorry…I’ve never done this before. I mean, I have. Sex, yes…just not with a…”

“Oh.” Yuuri tilted his head, his eyes understanding. “Well, I’m just like a person…with one upgrade.”

“What’s that?”

“I self-lubricate.”

 _Fuck._ Unbridled by the thought, Victor tilted Yuuri’s face into another kiss, sloppy and greedy. His tongue felt against the bumps of Yuuri’s taste buds, until they pulled apart with a slick sucking sound. Once again, his fingers began their roaming, moving from Yuuri’s neck, to his waist, to his thighs, then back up again until his fingers ran up Yuuri’s cock, twitching beautifully from the attention. Yuuri reached around to grip Victor’s thigh, digging his fingertips in as Victor moved his hand, stroking Yuuri’s cock. Every pump pushed Yuuri’s ass against his own cock, sending pleasure rippling through him and tightening the coil deep within. With one last stroke, Yuuri arched his back and fell forward, lewdly spreading his legs as Victor’s fingers felt at his entrance. He circled his digit around, Yuuri pushing into it impatiently and Victor held in a laugh at how cute it was. God, Yuuri was gorgeous, and very wet as Victor pushed in his finger, sliding in easily.

“Ahh…nghh…you don’t have to prep.” Yuuri said, his back dipping in as he let out a gasp. There. Victor must have found his sweet spot.

He pulled his finger out, using the viscous liquid to lubricate his own cock as he slotted himself against Yuuri, prodding his entrance with the flushed head. He bit his lip at the sensation. “Okay. I’m just— I’m not hurting you, am I?” Victor asked, slowly guiding himself in, waiting for Yuuri’s response.

The answer came as Yuuri pushed back, burying his cock deep within as he thrust backward. “Ahh! I’d have to have nerves that sense pain for you to hurt me.”

“Oh! I thought you were modeled to feel like humans.” Victor started a steady pace, the rhythm thrumming through his body as Yuuri enveloped him wholly. Each thrust sent a wet slapping sound into the silence.

“That’s…not in my programming.”

“Oh, wow! Then what does it feel like?”

“Oh, umm…the program uses sensors that trigger…similar patterns to those experiencing… pleasure stimulation.”

“So, if I do this…” Victor angled as he rolled his hips, lining to hit the same spot his finger had just a moment ago. “…you feel it? It feels good, right?”

“Ah! Yes, there!” Yuuri threw his head back, keening into the motion.” Nhhgh…you talk a lot.”

“Oh! Sorry.” A bit of blush tinted Victor’s nose.

“It’s fine. Just…no…one really asked about how I felt. Ah, Victor! Yes!” Yuuri went senseless as Victor began thrusting harder, reaching deeper. He filled Yuuri in a way that seemed reckless but was making him fall apart at the seams, unbuttoning what seemed like inhibitions one thrust at a time. Victor rubbed against what he assumed was meant to function like a prostate on each pass as he smoothly glided in and out, leaving him coiled and about to burst at the sight alone. Not yet, he wasn’t giving this up.

He switched positions, flipping Yuuri until he was seated in Victor’s lap as he leaned against the headboard. His mouth found Yuuri’s again and they tangled themselves in every way possible. Arms wrapped over arms, Victor’s body left tingling as Yuuri mapped every contour of his muscle with his fingertips as he rose and fell, sheathing and unsheathing. Victor’s hands threaded through the coarse strands of black hair, deepening a new string of kisses.

Passion, unbidden passion poured over and over until his senses were drugged numb with sweet pleasure. Undeniably, almost unbearably, as Victor thrust in, his cock met each time with tight, wet warmth. He couldn’t change it; he was lost in Yuuri. Lost in the way his body writhed around him, the way his head dipped back, mouth open and gaping as he mewled at each dragging motion.

“You-you can come back. After the…season ends…you can come back,” Yuuri panted between breaths, the snap of Victor’s hips bouncing Yuuri upward as he thrust from beneath. “I know, you-your skating…but you can come back.”

Victor’s eyes widened. Droves of fans and admirers offered themselves for a night with Victor, a chance to get what they wanted. But this, this was completely different. Yuuri didn’t look at Victor the skater, or Victor the legend…his deep dark eyes searched out something no one else ever had…something that was just…Victor. Just as how Victor had been seeking Yuuri to understand, Yuuri had been doing the same. Every movement further deepened their connection, and Victor wasn’t sure what he would do when this was over.

All the pent-up energy pummeled forward, and Victor took hold of Yuuri’s forgotten cock, pink and swollen and begging for release. His hand smoothed over and around as he began to pump again, pressing their foreheads together until they breathed each other’s breaths. Finally, the coil sprang free, and Victor shot hot streams of come inside Yuuri as tremors jolted through him. As the last waves of orgasm took hold, he felt warm white pearls seeping over his hand as Yuuri came. He looked to see Yuuri’s expression as the pleasure overwhelmed and overflowed, only to find wet lines running down the side of Yuuri’s cheeks.

“Androids can cry?” his voice soft and laced with curiosity as he reached to cup Yuuri’s cheek, thumbing away the line of tears pooling at his chin

Yuuri balked. “What?! Oh! No! I mean, it’s not supposed to do that. I’m not supposed to do that. I can’t— I-I think I’m malfunctioning again!” Yuuri began trembling and sprang from the bed, pacing frantically as he looked down at his come painted torso. “I’m not— I can’t com— I wasted all of your deposit! This can’t be happening. I can’t—”

“Yuuri, what’s wrong? What’s going on?” Victor brought the sheet from the bed to wrap around Yuuri. “Are you not allowed to come?”

“Of course not! Not until…” Yuuri raised his hand above his head in frustration, but Victor could fill in the rest. Not until he gave the deposit to a female donor. Yuuri’s breath quickened and grew ragged as he turned to Victor, fear frozen on his face in the most haunting way Victor had ever seen. “They’ll say I’m defective. No. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to be shut off!”

Without warning, the door thrust open, and Victor backed onto the bed with a startled look, eyes wide and dashing between Yuuri and the new person. . The man held his wrist to his mouth as he stormed forward. “I need Dr. Nishigori and Minami to Katsuki. Malfunction error code 9901. Subject under severe distress.” The stoic figure looked up at Victor, holding out his hand, “Mr. Nikiforov. You’ll have to come with me. I’ll have someone escort you out.”

Victor’s eyes darted from Yuuri to the person in front of him. Yuuri’s eyes begged, pleaded for help, his body shaking and twitching. “What about Yuuri?” he asked, as the door opened again, Dr. Nishigori rushing in with Minami in tow. Wordlessly they hovered over Yuuri, leading him through the door.

As if overcome by realization, Yuuri turned, reaching his hand out as the doctor nudged him farther. “V-Victor…”

His eyes lingered as the door shut in front of him, leaving nothing but an empty presence behind that filled Victor with a pang he’d never known before tunneling deep into his chest. 

There he sat, alone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't kill me!
> 
> Once again, a huge thank you to [faeriefirefly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/faeriefirefly/pseuds/faeriefirefly) for betaing this crazy mess of a chapter. You are a goddess. 
> 
> If you want to listen to a few songs from the upcoming chapters, you can listen to it here:  
> Synthetic Playlist  
> [Songs of the Chapter](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLN7W9U2jU8ohf0qWJ2EmN94fXbFZOCK02)
> 
> See you all next Wednesday!


	3. Activated/Deactivated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor seeks answers concerning Synthetic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got a new tag for you up there!
> 
> Music for the Chapter
> 
> Heartbreaker-MSTRKRFT ft. John Legend  
> [Heartbreaker](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8YXYeDpbwDk&feature=youtu.be)

The return to Russia left Victor spinning in a haze of questions without any answers. Nationals rolled by, and Victor barely noted his gold as he kissed it with the same generic press-expected smile he gave at every event. Droves of fans held up banners with birthday wishes, ushering him into the ripe age of twenty-seven with the same theme as all the other years: work. Some speculation over his impending retirement had died down; at least, the announcers started focusing on his gradual change in the performance components of his Aria routine instead. Of course, his routine was different. Instead of reaching out in the oblivion, seeking anything in the abyss, he’d found a hand to hold, a heart that beat in sync with his.

Nationals faded into a stream of practices, with the only integral difference between what he did before and now the hours he spent with his tablet propped in his lap, mulling over research studies. None of the sites or articles gave any indication as to what happened with Yuuri, but he filtered through everything he could find anyway. He lounged with his back against the armrest of his couch, one leg crossed over the other as he skimmed through the latest page: Minako Okuwaka Receives Government Go-Ahead For Synthetics.

_“Dr. Minako Okuwaka learns the secret to bridging the gap between human and droid relations: functional stability. Today, American representative Paul Sinclair backed Dr. Okuwaka’s plea for a resurgence of automated technology integration in everyday life. The doctor seeks to begin mechanizing a new line of droids: a droid with the ability to love. She received backlash after claiming droids could function freely, without the need for surveillance. However, the government arrived at a resolution this afternoon declaring that droid integration could begin, as long as they remained in function of their intended design….”_

Victor’s eyes grew weary as he read through the same beginning over and over, this being the seventieth time he’d read the initial coding required for synthetics to love. He heard the soft padding of paws on the wood floor and looked up to spy his poodle coming through the living area. “Makkachin!” he cooed, patting the side of the couch in invitation. Brown curls ruffled as the poodle leapt onto the couch, circling until she sank into her spot on his side, draping her head over Victor’s lap. “Most of these articles are old, Makkachin. How am I ever going to find out about Yuuri from this?” he pouted, leaning his head down just enough to receive a few reassuring licks from Makkachin, the poodle’s pink tongue rough against his cheek.

His interest in the article beginning to wane, Victor kicked off the couch. He didn’t really know if any of the books stacked next to him would yield any more information than the gamut of periodicals he’d found online, but he decided they could keep their spot next to the couch. He stepped over them, finding himself changing from the ease of his loungewear to jogging gear. He smoothed the grey fabric of his pants with one hand as he fumbled to get the strings of his hooded sweatshirt exactly the same length.

Grabbing his coat from the closet, Victor zipped himself into the warmth, the puffy nylon billowing as he leant over. Makkachin seemed to sense it was time to leave as Victor laced up his sneakers, jumping from the couch to sniff at the white soles of his shoes. Dark, beady eyes caught his, and Victor offered one more scratch before he left his apartment with Makkachin in tow.

 _What on Earth could have happened to Yuuri?_ Victor’s thoughts immediately betrayed him as he opened the door to the bustling street. He told himself he wouldn’t think about him as much this week. With a forlorn sigh, Victor pulled his earbuds from his pocket, situating them in both ears before tapping the side to play as he slowly started to jog down the sidewalk.

St. Petersburg’s winter had already begun, rime coating the streets over the dusting of snow. It wasn’t the full body of winter—it needed several inches of padding and a few pile ups before Victor would claim the Russian winter had truly set in—but it chilled his bones all the same. Victor’s feet crunched through the crusted snow as he rounded the corner, running past a gaggle of teenaged girls who pointed and shouted his name upon seeing the swish of his silver hair. He offered a sweet, humble smile, letting his fringe fall forward before giving a wink. He could afford a little distraction.

Perhaps he was bankrupt on affection. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t get the different shades of reds and browns comprising Yuuri’s eyes out of his head. Maybe that’s why he’d stopped going out with other people in the first place. To be fair, he only went out when he wanted to anyway, but the luster of the bar lights faded as he thought about Yuuri. In those few minutes, he’d never felt more connected to another person. Not just sexually, though that had been at the top of the highlight reel until it all went awry, but also in their banter, the way he’d locked eyes and felt something about Yuuri like he never had with another soul, the dancing. Oh God, the dancing!

The skyline paralleled the Tuchkov bridge the same as it did every day, the placid blue horizon light and ethereal, though even the warm cast of the sun didn’t yield enough heat to keep everyone’s breath from looking like white smoke as Victor jogged by. He meandered around a few clusters of people, keeping an eye on Makkachin racing off ahead of him. Beyond the bridge, he spotted a few seagulls, smiling at their croaking cries as they flew over without even needing to take an earbud out to hear. The benefit of monotony was that Victor always knew where home was by the seagull’s cries.

Some things always remained the same: the percolating beans roasting in his French press every morning; the scent of the brine wafting over the bridge, sometimes so potent he could almost taste the salt; the eager eyes who recognized him, and his obligatory wave and smile in return. Yet everything felt fresh as he stepped through the tall glass doors, the bustle of people in his peripheral nonexistent as he made a beeline straight for the steel doors to the rink. They creaked, rusty with years of little maintenance, but Victor paid no attention, a wide smile crawling over his face as he saw the glints of lights reflecting off the ice.

_“The functionality sequences prevalent in every Synthetic became the mitigating factors for production. Under the condition of each android serving a purpose, the United States became the first Western country to allow Synthetic distribution into the general population…”_

Victor felt an earbud being plucked from his ear. His eyes grew dark as irritation crossed over his face. Who would remove someone else’s earbud mid-sentence? Some uncultured swine, that’s who. He turned, meeting a face more agitated than his own. Yakov always had a way of giving a look akin to a tea kettle just before it blows. His thin brows knitted together until the wrinkles in Yakov’s pale face scrunched into a way that reminded Victor of a pug dog. Victor swallowed his laugh and offered a meager smile instead.

“You’re listening to another damn symposium cast, aren’t you?” Yakov accused, his Russian gruff and hoarse for this time of day. Victor assumed that if he came in just after lunch, he’d find Yakov in a better mood. Almost twenty years of this mindset should have taught Victor that Yakov was only in a good mood when one of his skaters was winning, though perhaps the glimpse of Lilia’s ramrod-straight spine next to the android he’d seen back at SHIP’s headquarters was to blame for his particularly foul demeanor this morning. The agape line seemed to suit Lilia, both of their calloused sneers jabbing straight at Victor from across the rink. Victor watched Yakov cross his arms over his coat, the silky red puff of Yakov’s jacket whistling as it deflated, much in the same way Victor had felt the air let out of his thought bubble.

“Yes. Why? It’s really fascinating—”

Yakov held out a hand, firmly gesturing to stop wherever Victor was headed with his comment. “I don’t know any more about that than I do about bee farming. It’s distracting you, Vitya. If you keep thinking about all this nonsense, you’re going to lose—”

Victor’s mouth drew into a pout, myriad petulant retorts swimming in his brain, but he knew none of them would dent Yakov’s tough exterior. Instead, he smiled his warm, open smile the one that pushed his cheeks so high he had to close his eyes, and stated, “I’m not going to lose.”

***

Each heaving breath prickled his lungs, stinging from exertion. Victor’s arms wrapped over each other, elbows tilted upward as the lights blinded his sight momentarily. The burn in his leg signaled everything he needed to know…

“Victor Nikiforov shows us all again why he is a living legend! A flawless program we saw here today at the European Championships…” The announcer’s voice was drowned out by the ruckus of cheers overwhelming the arena. Choirs of women enthusiastically chanted his name over and over from all sides, some men joining in the raucous applause.

The wave of cheering lasted through the medaling ceremony, and if it were possible for the crowd to be any louder during the exhibition gala, Victor presumed he would have permanent ear damage from the shrieks emitted when he shed his shirt mid performance. Now, seated in the perfunctory cushioned chair present at every skating banquet, he let out a sigh of boredom as he slid forward, resting his elbows on the white tablecloth. He fiddled with his phone, ignoring the chattering around him.

“Hey, isn’t that Yakov giving you that look?” Chris’s voice was laced with a false sense of alarm as he pointed behind Victor’s shoulder before taking the seat next to him.

“Ahh, damn. He wants me to talk to sponsors,” Victor lamented, thrusting his bottom lip out as he continued scrolling through social media. Nothing in the long thread of photographed meals and pictures of someone smiling and what shoes another recently purchased particularly interested him, but it was easy to switch from that to the search bar where he once again refreshed the various ways to spell Yuuri in hopes that someone’s profile would match the black hair and brown eyes he wanted to see.

“Victor, it’s not very motivating to sit here sulking about…what?” He felt Chris’s eyes over his shoulder, trying to peer at his screen. “Yu-uri?”

“Synthetics can be on social media, right?” Victor asked, finally resigning to put down his phone long enough to catch Chris’s eyes flirting over his suit. He couldn’t really blame him.

“Yeah, Phichit has one.” Chris shrugged, swirling the glass of champagne in his hand as he looked off in the distance. “Says it’s good for business.”

“Good for business?”

Chris nodded, pulling his phone from his pocket. Victor grinned at the purple case with black tiger stripes. _Just like Chris to have a case like that,_ Victor thought, watching Chris thumb over his screen. Green eyes scanned the apps as the blue light of the screen washed out his tanned face, making the wisps of yellow hair almost platinum. “Yeah. Like, new technology, upgrades. Synthetics who are taking in the most clients get in first…or something like that,” Chris elaborated, finally stopping his tapping to turn his phone around and show the screen to Victor. “Here, this is his profile.”

“Wow! You really know a lot about Phichit.” Victor beamed, looking intently at the photo if a young male, his caramel complexion complementing nearly black eyes as he grinned widely in the shot, holding a crust of bread to his parted lips. Objectively, Victor could agree he was attractive, but he wasn’t Yuuri. Phichit looked cute, even charismatic…but there was nothing surprising in the pictures as Victor began to scroll through.

“It works. I get what I want, then I go back to my first love—the ice. Just like yours is supposed to be…” Chris’s voice sounded like he was pressed to glass, obscure and distant as Victor waved him off, continuing to look through the prolific number of posts.

“There! That’s him! That’s Yuuri!” Victor nearly sang as he pointed to the background of a photo of Phichit. There, standing proudly with a hand on his hip, black leggings clinging softly over his waist and rounded ass, was Yuuri. How adorable Yuuri looked in the photo was ridiculously unfair.

Chris took his phone back, inspecting the photo. He tilted his head back and forth, along with the phone, as if a new angle would somehow make him see something besides that sweet smile on the screen. “Hmm. Can’t say I blame you for being hung up on him. Cute. Nice ass,” he assessed, his fingers scratching over the stubble on his chin animatedly. Chris quirked a brow up as he cut his eyes to the side, and Victor turned to see two stiff men in suits moseying in his direction. Chris waved as he stood. “Uh oh, sponsors for you to schmooze. Better put on your pretty face. Ciao.”

“Dasvidaniya. See you at Worlds!”

***

Victor fiddled with his tie, his fingers hooking into the knot to loosen it slightly in hope of getting fresh air in his lungs, something beyond the acrid taste of disinfectant on his tongue every time he took a breath. The Institution of Robotics in Tokyo should have invested in a better cleanser, or at least a less potent one. Even the linoleum had the same sickly discoloration it had the first time he’d been there. The discoloration and the stench of bleach always served as a reminder of the exact moment he found out his parents would never return home to him, much as he’d like to forget it.

Pressing through the glass door, the silver veins woven into the window casting shadows on his hand as he entered, he stepped into the center of the room. Its circular shape gave the room a modern look, but Victor could see the overly lacquered white walls that had been there since the first day he arrived.

He caught the secretary’s attention easily enough, giving his playful grin so she all but fanned herself, curls falling over her eyes as she sputtered out, “H-how can I help you?”

“I’m here to see Dr. Darkschewitz,” he said, his smirk turning more mischievous as he put his finger to his lips. “Don’t tell him I’m coming—it’s a surprise.” With a wink, he continued through the doorway to the right, the familiar scent of pine needles assaulting his senses the moment he entered the hall.

He could hear the secretary let out a breath before she squeaked, “Do-do you have an appointment?” just before the door slammed.

Fifteen steps to the next turn, then twenty-three more to get to the observatory. Victor counted the steps every time he visited, anchoring himself to something beyond the unsettled feeling gurgling in his stomach. Not often did Victor feel anxious, but when it came, it barreled down like a phantom presence, consuming everything. The last step accounted for, Victor faced the door, the same in every aspect as all the other white walls of every other institution priding itself on its clinical nature: tall, narrow, non-projecting. True, the door didn’t look as massive as it did when he was younger; adding an extra fifteen or so centimeters made a difference. But still, his breath shuddered in as he shook his hands out to his sides, letting the Victor of the past shrink back into the shadows and come back out as the living legend.

Before the door was fully open, the daylight streaming in through the floor to ceiling windows caught him unguarded, the brightness nearly blinding him. He shielded his eyes with his hand as he stepped through, letting the shadow give his eyes enough time to adjust. As his eyes finally took in more of the room than a flash of light, Victor sighed. Time itself seemed entombed in those glass walls. The same stark white bookshelf stuck out to his right, lined with books long outdated. The same cherrywood desk that looked out of place with the sleek design of everything else was piled high with stacks of papers nearly toppling over. And as if he were looking through decade-old eyes, the same stout man stood tinkering with the massive scope in the center of the room.

“Long time no see,” Victor chirped as pleasantly as his persona would allow. Anything less would seem insincere, while anything more would be too inviting. He heard the ratchet cranking back and forth come to a halt, the clang of it falling against metal echoing in the spherical room. Apparently, that was long enough to startle the man, and Victor watched amusedly as he snapped up, his feet still dangling from his stool.

“Vitya!” The doctor threw his hands in the air, his voice holding the gruff, gravelly tone he got when he was annoyed. The twitch in his wiry grey mustache confirmed it as he shook his head, the frizzy catastrophe he called his hair sticking straight behind him from what Victor would assume to be hours in that reclining position. Dr. Darkschewitz turned, his white lab coat having ridden up and stuck between his pudgy arm and side, waving his finger in the air as he continued, “The last time I saw you outside of your yearly physical— which I have to come to you for, no doubt—you told me to fuck off with a smile.” He turned around to gawk at Victor, shaking his head dismissively like it was a mistake to even do so. “Yeah, that exact same smile you’re wearing now. Then you kicked me in the shin.”

“I was fifteen,” Victor said, reminding himself that he could walk forward. He did so cautiously, watching Dr. Darkschewitz rummage through a stack of folders on a small table next to his stool.

“Ahhh…I doubt that was the only reason,” he replied, flipping through a folder. Victor knew he was right, of course, but today was not the day to trudge through that particular foxhole of despair. The doctor seemed satisfied with the contents of the thick manilla folder he’d found, giving a pleased nod before looking up, letting Victor finally catch the grey of the doctor’s irises. “So, what is it today? It’s not your leg, is it?”

“No. World’s is in Tokyo, so I just thought I’d drop by.” He shrugged nonchalantly as he spoke, giving his sweetest smile.

A deep chuckle bubbled out of Dr. Darkschewitz, who covered his heart with his hand as he laughed. “Don’t play games with me, Vitya. I haven’t the time,” he said, pacing over to the next stack of papers, on the bench in front of the window and right in front of Victor. He adjusted his glasses, pulling a pen from his breast pocket to jot something on the top paper.

Victor sighed. It wasn’t easy to get the doctor’s full attention from an expected visit, much less when interrupting whatever testing or planning or program he was in the middle of. This was going to be a delicate sequence to step through in order to get what he wanted, but Victor was confidant in his ability to persuade. Stepping forward, Victor placed his hand gently on the doctor’s shoulder before he began to speak. “Dr. Darkschewitz, you’re the only doctor for me.”

“HA!” the other man laughed crassly, shrugging Victor’s hand from his shoulder, “I’m only your doctor because you refuse to let anyone else look at you. And I’m not even a medical physician! I’m a scientist, a neurorobotics engineer. I don’t have time for the sniffles, Vitya. Some other time.”

“It’s not the sniffles…”

“Then, what is it?”

How was Victor supposed to say this without sounding like a lunatic—or worse, a tech addict? Yuuri was intoxicating, riveting, altogether confusing, but he wasn’t captivated by him because he was an android. If anything, it was the differences from all Victor’s other interactions with A.I. that made Yuuri stand out. Victor tilted his head, casually letting his silver fringe drape all too adorably over his eye, and asked, “What do you know of Synthetic?”

“Well…” Dr. Darkschewitz began, rising from the mountain of papers as his eyes crossed with suspicion. Victor knew it. Coming to the doctor had been a terrible idea. He’d send him to a psychiatrist, or worse, keep him there. The click of the door opening halted whatever Dr. Darkschewitz was going to say, much to Victor’s relief.

A waifish girl entered, her black heels clicking to a stop as she saw Victor. She bowed her head, the brown strands of her bobbed hair falling past her chin. “Sorry to interrupt. Dr. Darkschewitz, but JJ has a question about the metrics on…” Victor didn’t pay attention to the particulars, but Her voice had a bubbling lilt to it even in an apologetic tone, the rouge of her lipstick vivacious against her pallor as she spoke. Even Victor could objectively call her attractive.

“Ah, okay, I’ll be there right away.” Dr. Darkschewitz gave a nod as he turned to Victor. “Excuse me one moment. Duty calls.”

As the two disappeared into the hallway, Victor took one final spin around the room. It was like a museum cataloging the worst moments of his life. His fingers ghosted over the telescope, the memory of seeing the skyline burning red with embers through its eye surging to the front of his mind. He recoiled. What was he doing? He came here for answers, not memories. With a shake of his head, he turned to step over to the desk and began rummaging over the folders. None of the contents on the top seemed were of interest, various pages of data about the rotational position of the earth. Victor tore through the pages, neatly placing those he discarded in a new stack.

By the third stack, Victor was growing rather bored. None of the papers were remotely android-related, much less about the Synthetic serum itself. What did he expect to find amidst the fossils of papers on intermagnetic exchanges? He’d spent the last few weeks contemplating coming to the Institute as a last resort. But no matter what he found out about SHIP or the Synthetics, nothing explained what happened to Yuuri. Why was he crying? Why did he say he was going to die? No matter what Victor did, he couldn’t push the frenzied look in Yuuri’s eyes out of his mind. He had wanted to reach out, to hold him, to find out why the hell an android would react like that. But they rushed him out before Victor could even ask, apologizing over and over. It didn’t matter. He just needed to satiate his curiosity, that was all. Right? Of course.

Just as his replaced the last plain folder, a page fell, swinging over itself with a whoosh before tumbling to the floor. He bent down to pick it up, the diagram catching his eye. A mechanical hand reached between two fine needle lasers, if Victor read the notations on the hurried dashed lines and simple drawings correctly. On one table was a sketch of a human body, and on the other, the metal skeleton of an android. Arrows were penciled in between the two, with the words “Transfusion” scribbled along the curved lines.

“Ah, the nueromolecularscriptor.” Victor felt warm breath on the back of his neck before he even heard the words, but when Dr. Darkschewitz spoke, he started all the same, twitching backwards. Somehow, Victor must have missed the door opening and shutting, far too engrossed in decrypting the diagram to pay attention. Dr. Darkschewitz just nudged in closer, the tip of his thin nose poking Victor in the shoulder. He hmphed to himself before he inquired, “You understand it, don’t you?”

“In theory, yes.”

Dr. Darkschewitz clapped his hands, delighted. “See, I told you—you could have been a neuroscientist. Or a mech pilot, like your parents.” He gestured as he walked away, moseying over to a stack of books near the shelf. “But that wasn’t as flashy as skating.”

“I like skating.”

“And you do it well, national hero and all that. But you’re brilliant, Vitya. Skating won’t last forever. You’re already on borrowed time with that leg of yours.” Victor could feel a surge of heat on his cheeks as the doctor pointed toward his right leg. And Dr. Darkschewitz could surely see it, too, but instead of bringing it up, he merely shook his head, snapping the book between his fingers shut. He turned, motioning to the other side of the room where Victor knew he housed an exam bed. “Speaking of…let’s have a look at it,” the doctor said, thrusting his hand out to herd Victor over to the table.

The linen sheet stretched over the thin mattress in much the same way it always had. Shoes, belt, then reluctantly his pants dropped to the ground, leaving him in his black bikini briefs. Standing, no one could tell the difference between of his legs, both lean and muscular, perfectly contoured, and on several occasions, compared to sculptures of Greek gods. The spandex of his underwear scrunched over a thin, pale pink line that was all that remained of the stitching when he received his leg.

Victor stretched out on the exam bed, the fabric cold and too itchy against his skin. Almost drooling at the sight, Dr. Darkschewitz crept in closer. He readjusted the thin wire rims of his glasses, tilting them back and forth until his breath was on Victor’s leg. The hot air raised every hair on Victor’s skin, but he kept silent.

Nodding to himself, Dr. Darkschewitz reached his hands between Victor’s thighs, searching until he found a small indention on the back of Victor’s right leg. With a press, the flesh like material around his leg parted, revealing the gears grinding beneath, sheathed in metal. The doctor rapped against the metal with his knuckle, listening to the hollow bang. “Ah! Titanium steel. I knew it would be good,” Dr. Darkschewitz said, gasping at his own brilliance. “Held up all this time, even with growth adjustments. Bet no one even knows its robotic, huh?” he asked rhetorically, already moving to pull at the metal drawers beneath the exam table.

He held a long needle in his hand, flicking it with his finger as a grey liquid sloshed around inside. “Here…let me…” The fine point glowed, catching the light as he tipped it over, poking the needle into the tiny circular opening of Victor’s knee. The liquid coursed through the line between his knee and thigh, chilling the metal so cold, frosted accumulated on the outside of his thigh. Thoroughly pleased with himself, the doctor leaned back, discarding the needle into the bin. A smug look spread over his face as he leaned over to take one more look at Victor. “Does that feel better?”

 _It would feel better if I could kick you like the first time you did that to me,_ Victor thought, smirking to himself in amusement at the idea. Wordlessly, he wiggled his knee, flexing his foot back and forth as he noted the movement. Lighter, more flexible…it almost felt like his left leg. Almost. “Yeah. It’s looser.”

“Good. Good! Hydrochronic infused oil. Makes it circulate better throughout the different sections of the leg.” The doctor smacked the side of Victor’s leg one more time, the animatronic sensors grinding in response. Victor reached between his legs and pressed his own damn button before the doctor got the chance. Once again, the silicone skin reappeared, masking any indication that his leg was anything less than flesh and bone.

“You do the machinery proud on the ice, I’ll say that. Your parents would’ve been proud,” the doctor said almost to himself as he strode back to the unquarantined section of the observatory, leaving the curtain hang open in his wake.

“Maybe.” Victor shook out his pants, the soft grey fabric swishing as he put his leg into it a welcome sound. _They probably wouldn’t be very proud of the android I can’t get out of my head,_ he thought dismissively, letting his mouth drop sullenly only for a moment before fastening his belt. “If I was any more machine, I’d be disqualified,” Victor noted aloud as he came out from behind the curtain.

Which was true. The ISU had strict rules on the amount of robotics a person was allowed. All competitive sports did. No one wanted someone else to have an unfair advantage, not that anyone was ever more than a quarter robotic in history. A missing leg, arm, even a robotic pancreas for diabetes, but no one had ever been half machine-half robot. Science could only go so far, and Victor knew better than anyone that science couldn’t bring people back from the dead. Not even halfway.

“It’s our little secret, right, Vitya?” An anxious twinge dripped from Dr. Darkschewitz’s tongue as he spoke, his brow cocked as if seeking the answer he already knew.

“Right.” Victor nodded, his lips straight, holding in what he really wanted to say. He drew a quick, uneasy breath. Not here, not now. He wasn’t going to risk his chance by ranting uncharacteristically. 

“Well, what were you asking about earlier? Synthetic?” The doctor went about his work as he spoke, fiddling with a stack of paper before deciding to go back to the bookshelf. It looked to Victor like he was flustered, but the doctor would never allow such a word to describe him.

Instead of prying, Victor decided to follow his initial line of inquiry. “Yes. I wanted to know how—if—Synthetic works.”

Dr. Darkschewitz waddled forward, the stack of books he now carried teetering back and forth as he heaved the cumbersome load forward, depositing them in Victor’s arms. With his strong reflexes, Victor managed to keep them from falling on his feet. He cradled them as he shifted precariously, gaining his footing. 

“Here, carry that over there will you? I’m old. Need to put more use to the young!” He pointed Victor to a chair on the other side of the observatory. Every bit of Victor wanted to decline, drop the books on the doctor’s foot and head straight out of there…but then a pair of the loveliest brown eyes came to mind and Victor steadied himself. Now wasn’t the time to be uncooperative, no matter how much it was second nature. 

“Ah, yes…Synthetic,” the doctor said, almost sneering, turning his back to claim another book on the shelf. “Synthetic produces a chemical change that alters the android’s programming, allowing them to synthesize the feelings of love.”

A sigh released from Victor’s lungs as he let the books flop on the chair. Books were so beautiful, but incredibly cumbersome in large quantities. “So, is it real?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

Dr. Darkschewitz furrowed his brow, the wisps of grey feathering out farther than Victor remembered. Of course he would catch on. His eyes stayed on Victor an uncomfortably long time, the tension in the air between them palpable. “Where’s this coming from?” he asked, cocking his head suspiciously at Victor. “I wouldn’t think you’d be interested in anything like that after what happened to your parents.”

“This changes things.”

“What? Synthetic?” The doctor chuckled with disbelief, puffing his chest out. “Dr. Okuwaka’s on a fool’s errand if I ever saw one. She used to be a colleague of mine, you know?”

“Oh?”

“Spent half her days trying to prove that androids weren’t the soulless mechanic monstrosities that caused the very population problem she’s trying to solve with them. Reproductive androids. ‘Love’ she called them. What a waste.”

“It can’t be that bad,” Victor retorted. He crossed his arms, feeling the his clenched jaw so keenly, it started to radiate pain into his neck. “I’ve read some of her work on the transitional dissension between the organic and Synthetic populace.”

The doctor’s expression of incredulity lingered a moment before he went back to reading, raising a dismissive hand towards Victor as he spoke. “Mmmhh, yes, she used to sputter off about that all the time. She and that partner of hers…Cialdini? Ciao Ciao? She thought she could bring a ‘soul’ to programming, that it wouldn’t be much different than you or I.”

“What’s the difference, then?” Victor pressed. With everything in him, he wanted to know. Had to know. Yuuri hadn’t been so different. In more ways than one, he felt more alive than any of Victor’s past lovers. It couldn’t possibly be only the wiring. The wires and gears that made his leg work were not the same as Yuuri.

“You and I are instinctual, we are billions of eons of evolutionary handiwork culminating in the ability to think and feel freely. We grow. We adapt. And we do it completely organically. There’s no chip or-or serum dictating our feelings.”

Victor shook his head. “I don’t think having free will separates us that far from the Synthetics. Dr. Okuwaka seems to think that our processes are similar.”

“It’s dangerous thinking, that is. She wasn’t here when the bodies came in, torn and shredded as we tried to piece them back together with mechanisms and prosthetics,” he said, ending with a deep sigh.

“But, Dr. Darkschewitz…can they love?” Victor finally asked the question he’d been holding in ‘til now. The breath in his lungs felt a little lighter as he did.

“I suppose in their own way they can. But it’s not real. No matter what, Vitya, it will always be Synthetic.”

***

With the heaviness of the conversation with Dr. Darkschewitz still sitting on his chest, Victor entered World’s with one more chance. During his free skate, he reached out into the ether, hoping to grab hold of Yuuri’s hand. Somehow, some way, Yuuri would see the program. And maybe it would awaken that part in Yuuri that had awakened in Victor that night, the burning desire beyond lust that nothing could satiate. It was a hunger without bread to feed to it, starving on the streets alone and begging for help.

_Please don’t leave._

One more final pose. One more cacophony of applause. One more shining gold medal to kiss and the season finally ended. He barely managed a moment to see Chris. When he did, the most he got out of him besides a couple of innuendos was his plan to visit with Phichit and “give his offering” before a crowd of newscasters claimed hold of them both.

By the time Victor found a moment of solitude to collect himself, he was back in his flat in St. Petersburg, lounging against the couch in his usual manner. His foot swayed in the air as it crossed over the other, Makkachin finding her spot curled up at his side as Victor perused the internet inattentively. He scrolled through his various social media accounts, barely glancing at all the congratulatory comments and posts on his fifth consecutive win. Victor thought being a five-time champion would elicit some sort of excitement, but it offered only the same rattling skeleton of achievement that always hung around after the event. What to do next? His moves were the same. Everyone had seen Victor perform for more than half of his life. But Yuuri had moved entirely differently. He thought about the sensuality, the Eros. Yuuri’s Eros was entirely different than his own. Subtle. Playful. And absolutely seductive.

The tip of his finger hovered over the last link on his thread. Maybe it was a cute dog video. _Not that anyone could be cuter than Makkachin_ , he thought, his eyes looking down adoringly at the mess of brown curls beside him. How much had he paid for the nano bots that had kept her going for all these years? He didn’t know, nor did he care. Makkachin wasn’t leaving his side, ever, and that was all that mattered. With a smile, he leaned over to kiss the top of Makkachin’s head as he pressed the play on the video. Before it could play, of course, an advertisement popped up. Victor rolled his eyes, determined to find something on the ceiling more entertaining than a two-minute commercial. But, as the woman’s monotone voice began speaking, he found himself glued to the screen.

_"For centuries, human beings have struggled to find love. In our present day, it is more challenging than ever. Between work, school, and basic self-care, it seems almost impossible to find the time to find the one, to settle down and spread roots. As a result, the rate of population increase throughout the world is at its lowest in recorded history. How can we face this omnipresent threat to our continued survival as a species? How can we solve this problem? How can you find the companionship to fulfill your needs, while also serving the common good?_

_The answer to all these questions is SHIP International. Through the hard work and brilliance of our researchers and engineers, SHIP International has developed breakthrough technologies such as Synthetic that give us the chance to fight the decline in population rates while giving each person a chance to experience affection, intimacy, and companionship that isn't just as good as the real thing_ — _it's better._

_At SHIP, we use extensive research to build a profile for each person who becomes a donor, crafting the perfect android companion to either collect a donation or deliver one. No more loneliness, no more struggling to connect, no more questions. At SHIP International, only one question matters: who do you SHIP?"_

From that moment, Victor was resolved. He knew exactly what he needed to do. Now, he swung his fully packed suitcase in his arms, his feet making prints in the dusting of snow on the concrete as he waited for a bus to arrive. Each step closer gave Victor a feeling of freedom he didn’t know he’d needed. The iron shackles around his ankles unhinged and Victor readied himself for the next adventure: going back to find Yuuri.

As he waited, he stared down at his phone. Three missed calls from Yakov, no doubt to tell him in no uncertain terms just how much of an idiot he was for leaving. With a heavy sigh, he started to press his finger to the call back button, only stop at the crunch of snow behind him.

The wind tickled his neck as he turned, pushing the bit of fringe out of his eyes as he stared straight at the figure behind him. A petite frame was hunched over, a hood covering all but the thin wisps of blond hair fluttering in the wind. Victor smiled curiously. “Yuri, what are you doing here?”

Yuri Plisetsky, as Lilia had named him—Victor really should have realized who Dr. Nishigori spoke of when she talked about the Agape model—kept the usual shadowed stance he had taken up since he arrived. Wherever Victor went in the rink, Yuri was sure to follow. _Like a little lost lamb,_ Victor thought, just before he watched Yuri’s lips curl into a sneer. “By that look, I think I must’ve forgotten a promise I made….” Victor claimed, giving a playful smile in response to the anger radiating from Yuri.

“You promised you’d take me with you!” Yuri spat, kicking the ground until bits of snow splattered in front of him.

“I did? Why don’t you just go alone?”

“I…can’t” Yuri’s words were bitten out.

“Why?” Victor crossed his arms. Androids were permitted to fly with the proper paperwork like anyone else. 

Yuri’s shoulders slumped and he let out a sigh. “It’s not my function,” Yuri admitted. Victor remembered. The agape models: love, companionship, and most of all: being in close proximity to the person they were interned to.

“So, you leaving would make you defective? Don’t they just reprogram you?”

“What? Hey, idiot, do you not get what happens when a droid gets marked defective? That’s it. They shut you down and no one hears from you again.”

“And that scares you?” Victor questioned. Maybe this would answer one of the questions he had about Yuuri: where his fear came from.

“Of course. Every Synthetic is afraid of that. No one wants to hear that fucking ping go off.” Every time Yuri cursed, it to disillusioned Victor of his initial impression of the Agape model as soft. Yuri cut sharp, deep, and with intention in every word. But he could see why that would go well with Yakov’s rigid ex-wife, Lilia.

***

Between the bus stop and the Detroit airport, Victor learned Lilia already gave the necessary permissions and set the programming for Victor, all it needed was his fingerprint. Easily enough, with the correct indentations, Victor was set as Yuri’s companion for the trip. 

The air in Detroit nipped almost as hard as the frigid Russian winter even with spring beginning to try to bloom. They finally reached their destination and Victor smiled wider than he believed he ever had, reading the letters in bold in front of the doors: SHIP.

“Victor! What a surprise!” Chris mused. He waved, finishing his walk up the sidewalk with a coffee in hand.

“I thought you said the idiot knew we were coming,” Yuri scoffed, slinking suspiciously behind Victor.

“Chris!” Victor waved back, ignoring Yuri.

Chris stopped at the entrance, taking one final sip from his mug before he gave a salacious grin. “Well, I don’t see any fun out here…” he said, looking straight over Yuri as he gestured widely. “Shall we?”

Victor’s skin started tingling as he pushed open the door, walking straight up to the reception desk, his feet propelling him faster and faster. He smiled graciously and said, “Hello, I’m Victor Nikiforov. I’m here to see Yuuri.” Nothing the angry gas he received from the Yuri standing next to him, he amended, “The Eros model.”

The receptionist tapped her tablet, a worried look bringing her brows together. She scrolled a few times, tapping and re-tapping until she set the tablet down to look apologetically up at Victor. “I’m sorry, Mr. Nikiforov. Yuuri is no longer active in our system.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading, kudo-ing, and commenting. I have been floored by the reaction to this fic. I am so glad that you are enjoying it and hope you will continue as this story progresses.
> 
> As always, see you all Wednesday!
> 
> If you want a sneak peek at the upcoming chapters, follow the link to the playlist!  
> Synthetic Playlist  
> [Songs of the Chapter](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLN7W9U2jU8ohf0qWJ2EmN94fXbFZOCK02)
> 
> Once again, a huge thank you to [faeriefirefly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/faeriefirefly/pseuds/faeriefirefly) for betaing and giving me the best descriptor for Lilia's stance- ram-rod straight spine. 
> 
> Also, if you are over the age of 18 and want a place to yell about Yuri on Ice, please join the 18oI discord!  
> [Discord 18OI](https://discord.gg/TYMxcAB)
> 
> A note to Duetto readers: I regret to say that I have decided to take a hiatus from Beyond Duetto. I don't feel I was giving it the attention it was due, and I want to finish Synthetic before going back to it.


	4. Suburbs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor finds out Yuuri is no longer at the Institute. Yuri might have answers deep in the war-torn streets of the Detroit suburbs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music for the Chapter  
> [All is Fair in Love and Brostep](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6JYIGclVQdw&feature=youtu.be)

“Hah?” Victor’s throat ran dry, nearly choking on his words. His vocal cords scraped roughly as he coughed and tried again, “What do you mean, he’s no longer active?” He leaned on his elbow over the partition, catching the furrow in the receptionist’s brow, a long wrinkle creasing her forehead as she kept her eyes on the screen. His face began to prickle with heat, hackles rising on the back of his neck. He couldn’t believe what was happening. Not when he’d already come all the way to the institute. Not when Yuuri told him to come back.

“J-just what I said. He’s not active.” Her tone edged on assertiveness as she spoke directly to the screen, continuing to type rapidly.

Chris stepped closer, nudging Victor out of the way so he could flash a grin at the receptionist. “Anything I can do to help, Delilah?” Chris’s sultry tone should have earned him a medal, it poured out so smoothly, earning him a shy grin from the woman at the desk.

“Oh, Chris!” Delilah giggled, clearly pleased. Her hand pressed gently against her chest, and for the first time, Victor could see her brown eyes as she looked away from the screen to bat her lashes at Chris. “Phichit’s been waiting to see you!”

“Lovely!” Chris spoke in French and Victor watched Yuri, standing behind Chris, roll his eyes almost into the back of his head. Holding in his laugh, Victor kept his eye on Chris, watching his body language. Far from the boyish flush of when they first met, Chris carried a confident sexuality, his cropped blonde curls in an artfully tousled style that was no worse for wear as he ran his fingers through his hair. He winked, speaking more flattering French phrases. Victor was sure Delilah had no inclination of the meaning, but she melted as if the words packed enough heat to dry the ocean. That was the magic of Chris. Everything was easy.

“Alright. Send me a message when you’re done,” Victor said after they finished up. He waved goodbye as Chris turned to leave, moving his hips just enough to draw the receptionist’s eyes to his ass as he sauntered away.

“Don’t take too long, asshole,” Yuri huffed, stuffing his hands in the pocket of his jacket.

Chris turned, just enough to bring the cheeky grin on his face into view. “I never come early. Ruins the fun.”

“Ahh, Mr. Nikiforov…I’m sure there’s someone else I can find…” Delilah started pressing buttons on her screen, the projection illuminated white. The bordered corner started circulating through different profiles, a thousand faces a minute.

“No, no that won’t be necessary. I’ll just wait for Chris.”

Delilah merely nodded, returning to her work. Victor didn’t come to the institute to donate and he wasn’t going to pretend that was his intention. Walking along the edges, moping, his eyes searched the furnishings, the sparse decorations, everything. The waiting room felt as stagnant and stifling as before, and Victor itched to get out. Or better yet, burst through the doors and demand to know whatever happened to Yuuri.

“Will you stop pacing? It’s creepy,” Yuri said, having moved his attention off the screen in front of him long enough to notice. His body barely stayed upright in the chair, nearly reclined with his head folded into his chest. With a tap to the front of his tablet, the projection dissipated away, leaving only Yuri’s irritated gaze to fixate on.

“I’m just—”

“Thinking about Yuuri? You should stop that. He’s a loser.”

Before Victor could reply, the sound of wheels rolling and bumping along the tile stopped him. He turned, catching the eyes of a woman for just a moment before she returned to look back at her cart before her. Broom, basket, bucket; Victor surmised she was a member of the cleaning staff, yet something in her eyes drove a curiosity so cold in his veins he shivered.

“I’m going for a smoke,” she stated, pulling a small steel carton from the pocket of her white shirt. “Want to join me?”

Yuri balked, springing himself upward as his face contorted in disgust. “Why the hell would we?”

“Sure,” Victor agreed, ignoring Yuri, his chipper tone offsetting the surge of wonder now heating his veins. Cold to hot. Hot to cold. Victor really didn’t know what was happening to him but he followed the woman, her frizzed curls bouncing from her handkerchief she fastened over her head.

If she smoked, she was human—at the very least, he could be sure of that. Why would a human be a custodian? Automation had taken over custodial positions in the early re-implementation years. Long before Victor ever kissed a gold medal, some gear-grinding sweeper would follow around after him, cleaning up his messes. In a place as technologically advanced as SHIP, he’d thought they would leave menial tasks to robotic staff. Hell, the place was the epicenter of android technology! They made the Synthetics. Maybe that was why they still had human custodians. Synthetics were designed to feel, in a way, as humans do.

As they rounded the exit, the woman gestured to the door, parking the cart against the wall before following behind. The winter wind clawed under Victor’s wool coat and sunk into his skin the moment he stepped outside. He shivered. As his teeth chattered, Yuri protested unintelligibly next to him, scuffing his sneaker against the pavement as he spat. The chill didn’t affect Yuri the way it affected Victor or the woman slouching back against the wall, just far enough off the entrance not to be a bother. She huddled into herself as she retrieved her box once again from her pocket. The metal thumped against her hand as she smacked the case on her open palm, a long, thin, white bud poking up. _SHIP must pay well,_ Victor thought, since not many tobacco companies were left after the war. Most of the crop land was ridden with radiation. Tobacco was quite the luxury, and Victor stared, almost mesmerized as she bit the filter, pulling the cigarette all the way out by her teeth.

From behind her thumb and the case, she produced a light, rolling the flint until fire flickered up while cupping her other hand to shield from the wind. The tip of the tube burned from orange to brown, her voice hissing as she sucked in a breath. Menthol. Tobacco. The two scents swirled around as puffs of smoke billowed in her exhale. Victor tried not to crumple his nose as the odor wafted in his direction, merely turning into the breeze instead. The serene quiet in the air was a nice breather, even with Yuri scoffing in the background.

When Victor turned back around, the cigarette curled between her fingers was almost to the filter. She took one more drag before flicking it down to the pavement, stepping on it with her shoe before disposing of it in the waste bin on the other side of the door. As she came back to her place on the wall, repeating her motions for a second cigarette, she lifted her chin in acknowledgement. “I heard you say Yuuri. Are you looking for him?” she asked, taking a sharp inhale of her cigarette.

“Ah, yes. I came here to see him.” Why was he telling the woman? Was Victor really becoming so desperate he’d divulge any information in hopes of seeing Yuuri again?

“They said he wasn’t active. Idiot,” Yuri interjected, his irritation clearly showing on his face as he rolled his eyes.

The woman took one more long drag, closing her eyes to savor the smoke before speaking. “He’s not here anymore.”

Victor nearly broke his jaw as it dropped in shock. His eyes widened, looking desperately at a complete stranger as if she were his only hope. “What? Where is he?” 

“I don’t know. Someone bought him, I guess.” She shrugged, letting the smoke flare from her nostrils. “One day he was here, the next I was cleaning out his room. No one said where he went or where they took him.” Her last words left a bitter taste in Victor’s mouth. He didn’t know all the implications, but none of what he imagined seemed good. As the last cinders of her cigarette burned into the air, the woman looked down at her watch, an antique silver relic much too wide for her thin wrists. Writing etched around the head of the clock gleamed in the light, but Victor wasn’t able to make out the markings. “Break’s over,” she sighed, her head drooping over her shoulders. She looked up one more time, an unknown memory surfacing in her eyes, but in their dark depths was a resilience that suited someone much older than she seemed. “You’ll take him, right? If you find him?”

“If I find him,” he echoed. “When I find him,” Victor wanted to say, but those words drew hopeless arrows pointing nowhere too soon. The woman nodded, a silent acknowledgement of Victors intention, before pushing off the wall. She disappeared into the entrance, and by the time Victor walked the two steps in, she and the cart were both gone.

“Wait!” he called into the vacant hallway, “I had questions!” So caught up in the promise of information, Victor forgot entirely about asking her why. Why was Yuuri gone? Why share information with Victor? _Why not me?_ he answered internally for himself almost simultaneously. The entire meeting was absurd, but Victor didn’t sense anything disingenuous from the woman, no matter how vague the encounter.

Suddenly, he felt a tug at the elbow of his coat, pulling him backwards.

“Come on.” Yuri beckoned as he continued walking forward, leaving Victor strangling to untangle himself or else fall.

“Where are we going?”

“I…might know how to find him,” Yuri gave, rather reluctantly.

“Really?!?” Victor’s heart flipped and he almost twirled in excitement.

“Yeah… I need to do a few things first.” Victor felt Yuri’s eyes sweep over him, sizing him up with a dissatisfied look. “Are you going to wear that all day?”

Victor looked down, running his fingers along the silken threads of his sweater, the crisscross of blacks and greys and whites intertwining with one another, before he frowned at Yuri. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

“You look like you’re a hundred, old man.”

“I got this in Milan!” Victor pouted.

Yuri shook his head. “Fine. Don’t blame me if it gets wrecked. I’ll take you where you want to go. Just one rule.”

“What’s that?” Victor nearly scoffed at Yuri’s serious tone. 

Yet Yuri’s expression was sincere, and Victor saw his green eyes look at him more intensely than ever before. Yuri pointed before he instructed, or rather, ordered like a drill sergeant, “Shut up unless I tell you otherwise.”

After sending a message to Chris, telling him to take his time and that they’d catch up with him later, Victor let Yuri guide him out of the densely populated center of the metropolis and into a rusty station wagon with constantly squeaking wheels. The gears ground to a halt in front of a dilapidated building, the cement walls worn and crumbling. Rocks ticked along the ridged edges of the structure, tumbling onto the sidewalk next to Victor’s feet as he got out of the sorry excuse for a taxi Yuri had dragged him into.

Following Yuri’s demand, Victor refrained from speaking. The car door slamming shut, Yuri stomping with a mind-boggling fury up to join him, everything was heard much more clearly than if he were asking the questions that pooled in his mind. _Why are we in such a seedy place? Why won’t Yuri tell me where we’re going? Is there somewhere to eat?_ His stomach gurgled on his last thought. Tucking his hands into his coat pockets, Victor lingered just far enough behind Yuri to not draw attention, walking along the remains of a city street. Only a few others passed by as they walked, a stark contrast to the heart of Detroit they were in not long ago.

They turned one street, then another. The same once-proud buildings lay in ruin at each corner, all of them fading without one distinguishing characteristic from the others. _All the architects designing the same building, believing it was something unique, but meeting the same fate, over and over…_ Victor reined in his wandering thoughts as Yuri pulled on a gate in a wire fence. It creaked defensively as Yuri tried to open it gently, finally giving in as Yuri yanked, cursing under his breath in agitation.

Chunks of decaying rock and scraps of metal littered the yard in front, and Victor stepped carefully to avoid catching his foot or slicing his leg. _Either leg would be bad,_ Victor thought. No one knew Victor’s leg was robotic and he intended to keep it that way. The last thing Victor needed was something cutting him open and revealing the mechanisms, much less in a foreign area.

After successfully clearing all the obstructions on the path, Victor took a good look at the small house in front of him. Peeling paint graced the pale-yellow walls and white trim. Paint chips had caught the wind and collected on the porch, the white floorboards splotched with dirt and scraped down to the wood. Beyond the frowzy house lay a field of commercial storage units in much better condition.

The door nearly snapped off its hinges with the vigor of Yuri’s pull, smacking against the wall with an bang that made the screen fall from the window. Yuri didn’t seem to care, or didn’t even notice, stuffing his hands into his pocket and barging through the entryway.

Victor carefully followed, allowing the door to close gently. He locked eyes with the man behind the counter, smiling apologetically. The man merely shook his head, the brown curls around his shiny bald scalp reminding Victor too much of Makkachin. She was safe with Yakov, no matter how bitter his coach was about taking her in, Victor reassured himself, as he heard the man scoff loudly, holding his hand up to wave them off.

“You haven’t paid in four months. No,” the man said with finality in a hoarse voice. He leaned over the counter to reach something, then his stubby hands fumbled with the Ivan’s Storage sign hanging in front.

“Oh, come on, Ivan!” Yuri’s words dripped with anger and he threw his hands up before letting them fall heavily to his sides. “You can’t sell my stuff!”

Without even looking up, Ivan crinkled his pudgy nose, making his appearance even more slovenly as he wiped his hand under his nostrils, then on his stained white shirt. “You signed the agreement stating you would pay—”

“I was in Russia!”

“Not my problem. Four months, no payment. I put the locker up for auction.”

“That’s bullshit!” Yuri slammed his fist on the wooden countertop, and Victor swore he saw the planks shake from the force. “Otabek never came here? Not once? Never threatened you at all?”

Ivan’s eyes darted side to side, a leery look coming across his face as he watched Yuri’s hand disappear into his pocket. From the way Yuri positioned himself, Victor couldn’t tell if Yuri was reaching for something or not.

A smile oiled in vitriol crept across Yuri’s face as he tilted his head, his eyes fixed on Ivan like predator on prey. He moved his hidden hand, snickering as he watched Ivan gasp and flinch back, barely managing to catch himself from toppling down to the floor. “Ah, so he has,” Yuri stated, satisfaction in his voice as he calmly rested on his heels. He’d won.

Ivan snatched a key from the wall and flung it over the counter. “Just take the key and get the hell out of here! I’ve had enough of you to last me ten lifetimes.”

Outside, the air was thick with dust. The loose gravel crunched under Victor’s feet as he walked alongside Yuri, trying to find his face under the hood of his sweatshirt. “Do you have a gun in your pocket?” The words came before he had a chance to tell himself to shut up, but Yuri didn’t seem perturbed, and Victor sighed in relief.

“It’s my hand.” Yuri lifted both hands from his pockets, flipping them back and forth.

“Oh, so is this why you wanted to leave Lilia? To get your things?” Victor asked as they reached what must have been Yuri’s storage unit. The rows of beige metal buildings all looked the same, only the numbers in the center of the rolling steel doors differentiating one unit from another. Apparently, Yuri’s was number 423.

“Ah…sort of.” Yuri shrugged, inserting the key and turning it with a click, unclasping the lock until it fell heavy in his hand. “I like Lilia. She’s tough. She started teaching me ballet. She doesn’t try to do all that coddling, loving mother shit.”

“But…” Victor pressed. As harsh as he knew Lilia could be, Yuri seemed to be just as hard. Their dispositions were certainly a good match.

“But I have a function there,” Yuri finished as he rolled the door up, revealing the contents. A bare bulb flickered on as Yuri pulled a string, the harsh light causing Victor to recoil slightly as his eyes adjusted.

What lay inside appeared to be more of an armory than the housewares and furniture that typically resided in storage units. Shelves lined the walls, each containing a separate set of weaponry. A menagerie of ammunition stacked on the shelves, sheathed knives, a few bows and quivers full of arrows mounted on the walls, and that was just scratching the surface. He stayed in the doorway, watching as Yuri crouched and rolled a hard case from beneath one of the shelves before opening it painstakingly slowly, carefully unlocking each lock.

“Do you not want to serve a purpose?” Victor asked. He knew what Yuri meant, sure. He had read about function and the global directive for androids, especially the Synthetics, countless times in the articles he’d studied so often he could almost recite them word for word. Nothing in his research pointed to droids being bothered by their functions.

With a grunt, Yuri heaved a rifle from the case onto his shoulder, letting it rest as he turned to search another shelf. “Do you?” Yuri snapped with such venom it left Victor speechless, for once. Somewhere in his mind was a retort about how surprising people was his purpose, and he’d served it his entire life. But he wasn’t shackled to it. It didn’t define him. And it didn’t come with a pendulum swinging over his head. Yuri returned to digging through the gadgets and machinery, swimming in the assortment of trinkets and bolts tossed together in a clear plastic box until he found what he was looking for. “Ah, there. Fucking finally.”

Victor blinked a few times, his conscious mind finally registering the rifle on Yuri’s shoulder. “You have a gun?”

The late reaction drew a quirked brow and a scowl from Yuri, who shook his head, looking exhausted by Victor’s question. Yuri went back to the small, marble-sized sphere in his hand, reaching up to press it to his neck. Six tiny metal legs sprung out of the ball, and Victor watched with wide eyes as they dug into the skin of Yuri’s neck and attached the device there.

Victor tried his luck on one more question. “What’s that?”

“Frequency distributer. Scrambles the detectors tuned in. Can’t tell if I’m against my function or not if they can’t fully detect me,” Yuri answered as he picked up another case and thrust it in Victor’s direction. It landed in Victor’s arms, a heavy weight bobbling back and forth a few times before it settled. Victor was very glad his reflexes didn’t fail him and send the case crashing on his toes.

“Is that legal?” Victor knew the answer, and the look on Yuri’s face confirmed the truth. No, none of this was legal, but wherever they were headed, this was the only way. A silent understanding passed between them for the first time since Yuri was booted up on his arrival to St. Petersburg. Victor didn’t know shit.

Fitted with as much artillery as three duffel bags and a pack on each of their backs would allow, they headed back to the street. “The Suburbs,” Yuri explained as they walked, “used to be home to a lot of people, families. But most of these were taken out in the third wave of the war.” He pointed to the crumbling brick houses along the street. “Everyone moved closer to the city center, the buildings grew taller, and as the Institute says, no one’s fucking to pop out kids anymore. So we moved out here.”

“Who’s we?” Victor asked, and Yuri gestured in answer. Up ahead, the street burst into life. The abandoned neighborhood teemed with people, or perhaps androids; Victor couldn’t tell which. Figures dotted the streets, moseying in and out, different in every aspect except for the soot that stained their skin. Stalls were cobbled together from bits of the homes that once lined the street, each offering a different commodity.

Tingling with excitement, Victor felt the now familiar presence of his own ignorance brewing as they journeyed down the street. “I thought everyone was—”

He was interrupted by the squeak of a horn behind him. Victor jumped, dodging out of the way in time to avoid a man whizzing by on a bicycle, ringing the bell on the other side of the horn. With a shy smile, the man lifted his ballcap in apology, revealing circuits firing where his skull should have been.

Yuri scoffed, turning to continue through the crowd. He looked incredulously at Victor before he spat, “Owned? Turned off, only to be turned on when someone wants them? Are you really as big of an idiot as you look?”

“Do I look like an idiot?”

“Do you want me to answer that honestly?” Yuri didn’t give him time to respond, stopping in front of a ramshackle stall with a Buy or Trade sign nailed precariously to the overhang.

The man behind the booth looked every bit as crooked as his sign. His wooly brows were nearly twice the size of the curled black mustache he twirled, slowly, eating up every inch of Victor and Yuri with cold greedy eyes. “You owe me money.”

“Yeah? Take a number.”

“Perhaps…” His eyes followed Victor in a way that made him wish for a bad hair day, anything to avoid the vulturous gaze that left him uneasy. The man’s tongue flitted out to tap against his thin lips and he continued, “Perhaps you brought someone for me.”

Yuri threw his hand in front of Victor. “Not for sale.”

“Pity. What a bargain I could have given you too…” The man pouted, making his chin nearly disappear as he gave a weak attempt at coyly batting his lashes. “At least half your debt.”

Yuri rolled his eyes before swinging the rifle onto the table. “Here. What about this?”

The tradesman propped the gun on his knee, his mouth gaping open dramatically in mock astonishment. “Ah! A new model, Yuri…you’ve been holding out on me. Tsk, tsk,” he teased as he tilted his head lower, the sweat shining on his forehead like scales of a snake. His next words slithered out wetly. “This one’s projectile is much more reliant than the 2024 models, wouldn’t you agree?” He smoothed his hand over the dull grey barrel, stroking as he spoke, his voice as ostentatious as his dress. The fur stole around the man’s neck fell to his elbows, not quite covering the cropped yellow top beneath. Vintage high-waisted shorts and a black beret completed the absurd look.

As odd as it was, his ensemble wasn’t out of place, the people around them wearing a fusion of antique and current fashions blurred into a tapestry of questionable style choices. Yet between the neon shirts, mesh, and mismatched prints threaded a symbiosis Victor couldn’t quite understand. If he didn’t know better, Victor might have assumed they were skating costumes, tightly fitted and bedazzled. No one seemed out of place. No one besides him, anyway, in his fashionable jeans and sweater.

Any patience Yuri had displayed in the past few minutes had worn threadbare, tearing as he spat, “If you’re gonna keep playing games, I’ll take it to Babs. Just tell me if this is enough to get them back.”

“Oh, those…and here I thought you just came to visit.” The man kept an eye on Yuri, tracing his finger around the muzzle of the rifle over and over again.

“Come on! I know you have them!” Yuri bellowed, infuriated and as demanding as a spoiled teenager. “No one here has enough bolts to pay what they’re worth, even if you didn’t jack up the cost!”

“Very well.” The shopkeeper sighed dejectedly, pulling the rifle up to rest against the side of his cheek. “This is a fine thing for you to part with for those old hacks you call skynetics. But who am I to say what you old models hold sentimental, hmm?”

Victor’s curiosity burned beneath his skin, but he knew if he spoke that would end their deal. More than wanting to know what this slimy man meant by “Old model,” he needed to know what happened to Yuuri. None of his internal impatience must have shown on his face, thankfully, because the other two kept their eyes on each other as Yuri thrust out his hand and asked, “Deal?”

The man turned his nose up, the fine point of the tip emphasizing his words. “Fine. This will make us even. But you still owe me.” He then dipped below the stall, and Victor heard metal clanking and glass being scratched. He reappeared, dangling two circular objects like nothing Victor had seen before from his hands. Each wheel spun with a gradient hue of red to orange to purple to blue, nearly the entire rainbow of colors swirling together as the man tossed them over to Yuri.

Yuri muttered something under his breath about giving the man what he owed as he flung his sack over his shoulder, stowing the skynetics inside.

“Anything else?” the man purred, walking his fingers over the counter suggestively.

Yuri sighed, letting his arms hang down at his sides, more open than Victor had ever seen him. He sounded begrudging as he said, “We’re looking for someone. Someone from SHIP said they were sold. I thought maybe it was the circuit…”

“Oh, you want circuit information, huh?” The shopkeeper crossed his hands under his chin as he turned to Victor. “What’d you do, sweetheart? Catch feelings for a fuck toy? You know they can’t love, right? Not like that. Goes against their function.” Victor’s ears heated at the words. The man held out his index finger, waving it back and forth as he sang, sharply enunciating each syllable, “And we all know what happens when you go against your function.”

Victor turned as the man spoke, catching the couple passing by shrinking at the words. Was it really that bad? And if it was bad enough to fear, what else could androids, especially Synthetics, feel? He looked back to the tradesman, his bony fingers now curled around the back of his head.

“All that synthetic love bullshit, and all they can do is get you off.” The man looked Victor over once more and sighed longingly. “Too bad all the good ones want what they can’t have.”

“Do you know anything or not?” Yuri demanded.

“I might have heard of some people talking about a spicy new dish they’re serving on Main. But it’ll cost you.”

“How much?”

“All of what Mr. Silent But Deadly Handsome has in his sack.” The man curled his lips into a smile that made Victor’s skin crawl.

Unbuckling the straps of his backpack, Victor laid everything out on the counter. Bullets, gunpowder, handguns, and a few knives were all swept beneath the stall and replaced with a small, square piece of paper with an address scribbled on it.

Once out of earshot of the majority of the commotion, Victor finally spoke. “I don’t know why they sold Yuuri,” he murmured, mostly to himself.

Yuri shrugged. “They probably just got tired of him. You said he malfunctioned, right?”

“Well, I…” He hadn’t actually told Yuri what happened. And quite honestly, he couldn’t say exactly what happened that night, since he wasn’t quite certain himself. All Victor knew was that the tears on Yuuri cheeks were as real and wet as the sweat on his own brow, and he had to know more.

Yuri interrupted Victor’s thoughts with his own statement. “They don’t sell droids they want to keep. Trust me.” He turned, shoving the note in Victor’s hand before locking eyes with Victor. “Take the address. I got things I need to do. I’ll message you where to meet me,” he said, securing the note, then lifting his hand. “Later. Dasvidanya. Go find Yuuri.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> An early update, what? Actually, I'll be away tomorrow and didn't want to make posting a day late, so we will continue the search for Yuuri next Wednesday! See you then!
> 
> A huge thank you to [faeriefirefly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/faeriefirefly/pseuds/faeriefirefly) for betaing! She is a master!
> 
> If you want a sneak peek at the upcoming chapters, follow the link to the playlist!  
> Synthetic Playlist  
> [Songs of the Chapter](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLN7W9U2jU8ohf0qWJ2EmN94fXbFZOCK02)
> 
> Also, if you are over the age of 18 and want a place to yell about Yuri on Ice, please join the 18oI discord!  
> [Discord 18OI](https://discord.gg/TYMxcAB)
> 
> If you’d like to follow me for updates on Twitter or Tumblr, please click below!  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/tutsibootsi)  
> [Tumblr](https://tutsibug.tumblr.com/)


	5. Starling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor loses his clothes, but finds a star.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Drumroll* The moment you've all been waiting for...
> 
> Music for the Chapter  
> [Le Disko ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pY-76Rn_J8Y&feature=youtu.be)

Yuri disappeared into the crowd without another word, his hair a blonde curtain falling at the call as he dipped into the shadows. Caught in the middle of the street, Victor stared down at the black lettering on the piece of paper in his hand. The day’s events cycled through his mind like a spinning loom, starting at SHIP and rotating on the spindle until enough pieces twined together to allow him to make sense of the script. It was code, not an address:

**Private void gotolocation(double lat, double long, float zoom){**

**LatLng ll = new Latlng(42.348975, -83.059345);**

**Starling= Saccharine.newlatlng(ll.toStarling** **);**

For the first time since Dr. Darkschewitz tasked him with studying compilation upon heaping compilation of programming, Victor smiled with gratefulness. The numbers and letters and strict guidelines he’d despised held the answer key. A few pointed taps on his phone and the thin screen lit up with a bubble around the location. His smile nearly touched his ears as he read, radiating the glow he felt on the inside. It wasn’t much, a name and an address, yet having a solid lead was enough.

Finding transport back proved more difficult than decoding the coordinates. The remnants of passersby trickling back and forth barely attempted to feign interest. Every time he tried to catch someone’s eyes, they averted their gaze and acknowledgement. Why would anyone want to avoid at him? It happened again and again, and Victor stood dumbstruck, the fog of confusion threatening to leave him beside himself, abandoned once more.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Victor stuffed the piece of paper into his pocket, searching the crowd for anyone who might respond if he approached. Though this time he physically was by himself, he wielded the best weapon he possessed to fight against the stinging rejection: his charisma. Eyes widened and shining, a dazzling effect that he honed at just the right angle along with a cheeky grin that exuded just enough confidence to entice but not so much as to absolve Victor of his mystery. He straightened his back as he walked, eyes seeking anyone who would engage.

He waded through the influx of shoppers, traders, and other loiterers with an open gaze and perfect posture. His arms were at his sides, swaying along breezily as he passed a merchant, what appeared to be a small child, a group of three locked arm in arm, but none would do more than just glance at him. He fought against the feeling of defeat, almost tasting the bitter edge. Victor didn’t lose.

_RAP RAP RAP_ The knock sent Victor whirling in place, turning to find the source. A man ushered him over by the wave of his hand. “Your neck. They won’t talk to you because of your neck,” the man said, pointing just beneath his earlobe.

Victor took a closer look at the man’s weathered skin. There, as on all android models, was a an inkblack heart, a power button. “Oh. Why are you talking to me then?”

The man shrugged, leaning back into his chair, which gave a long, creaking groan in refute of the man’s size on top of it.. “You don’t seem the type to be policing clean up. Besides,” he said, dragging a nail deeply against the mark on his neck, “this is a tattoo.”

The realization struck him slowly, but hard. Another human! Victor leaned in closer, smelling the lingering stench of the man’s debauchery on his breath. “Do you know how to get out of here?”

“Same as you came.”

“That’s not…” he looked back out into the swarm to Yuri’s long-faded presence, “entirely feasible.”

“Alright then.” The man pointed past the crowd. “Follow the street down to the Crow’s Peak; there’s an old train station there. Lots of drivers wait there. Should be able to barter with someone to take you back.”

Victor thanked him and started in the direction he’d been pointed. Dusk had fallen sometime between Yuri’d haggling with the shopkeeper and Viktor floundering until he found his way. Flickering lamps on the stalls provided a scant bit of light in the beginning. Any streetlights that once lined the street no longer helped with visibility on the road below. The streetlights weren’t riddled with broken glass and burned bulbs were abandoned antiques, statues with no purpose. They hunched, hauntingly reminiscent of the life that once cluttered the street. Maybe no one else in the area needed a light to guide them. Most of the inhabitants there weren’t Victor, after all; they weren’t even human.

Counting the staggered poles that still stood, along with the bases of those that had fallen, kept Victor aware of his surroundings. By staying close, he could barely make out the lamp posts. He didn’t dare use the flashlight function on his phone, for who knew how long his walk would be. Victor heard the occasional scuffle of feet or the ding of a bicycle bell. From time to time, he felt others walk past, almost catching his shoulder. They never apologized, nor even gasped; they just continued forward. Nameless, faceless figures streamed by on either side, close enough to touch but never daring to reach. The street may have been filled with people…he wasn’t sure and it didn’t really matter. Victor was alone.

Time between when he started and now felt stretched along a long timeline, though only a fraction of time had passed. Wind swept through the alleyways into the street as he continued walking through the dim evening, cutting through Victor with cold claws. Victor gripped his lapels, trying pull his coat tighter over his chest, a makeshift shield against the blustering chill. Was Yuuri out in this? What if Victor found him discarded amongst the garbage…or worse? Something smacked, the clatter loud enough to draw Victor’s attention a few feet away. A sign! The slipshod wiring was nearly broken where it knocked against the post, but as the wind lessened to a lull, the sign hung straight. A few steps closer, and he strained his eyes to see black paint standing out against the wooden planks, revealing a crow.

Finally. Victor felt the muscles in his shoulders go lax. He didn’t even realize he had been so tense, but apparently the shadows masquerading as people along the walk took more of a toll than he’d thought. Victor might have been accustomed to solitude, but not the dark. Just like the lights that beamed brightly on the ice, he kept something shining on him constantly.

With a twist on the back side, the phone in his pocket reformed, folding into a rectangle. Light beamed out, just in time for Victor to avoid stepping on the twin rails jutting up from the ground. Sharp edges stuck skyward as though they had once dared to strike into some distant future and had been repelled. The metal had corroded throughout, reducing the once proud rails to withered industrial roots. He darted across the tracks, cautiously, though adrenaline began to pump through him as he made it closer to the landing. His momentum went into overdrive on the last step and Victor put the toe of his shoe down to kick off, spinning over the jagged pieces of broken glass strewn about the center. There—something about skating was practical in life.

What remained of the station was a blown-open hole where a doorway should be, and the shambles of what was once an elegant architectural structure. Hints of sculptures lay on the ground, the wings of an angel crumbling to dust with the vibration of each step. 

As Victor dusted off his jeans, the light from his flashlight caught the vague outline of a figure standing on the landing, back turned. “Got a name?” the figure boomed, catching Viktor off guard along with a few birds, as they flew off with a screech.

“Victor,” he answered firmly, even though his throat burned with dryness. Victor grasped the railing, only to let go as it shivered and fell to the ground. The last bit of bravado left him as he looked down at the shambles, a knot of dread digging its way into his core. Apprehension didn’t become him, and quickly swiped off the sweat beading on his brow before regaining his composure. Now was not the time to show fear.

“Victor…hmph. Must not be one of the Synthetics then. Most give me their serial number. Even if they got a name.” The deep gravel of the figure’s voice reminded Victor of Yakov, of someone who saw a lot more than he would ever tell.

Victor took every step with suspicion, feeling out the wood of the platform before putting his full weight on it. The weathered boards were splintered, sharp shards pricking up to the sky, and Victor knew it would be hell if he were stabbed by one. “Ah, y-yes.” Victor said, tiptoeing from one step to the next. A bit of wood caught inside his pant leg and felt a razor blade slicing his ankle. He kicked out of it, silently cursing the pain searing on his skin. “I’m trying to get back to the city center.” Victor leaned down to rub his ankle, numbing over the ache. He tilted his head until his chin almost met the sky to gaze at the man in front of him,; the man was a continent..

The man looked past his shoulder and saw green gleaming in the light from his phone as he caught the man’s eye, the lip of his Breton cap atop his head falling to his brow as he met Victor’s gaze. “What do you have to give me in exchange?”

“Oh, umm…” Hands went from his pants to coat pockets to sweater as Victor fumbled for something his wallet. “I have plenty of money.”

“I don’t need money.”

“What do you need?”

Each floorboard squealed in agony under the weight of his foot as the man stepped fully into the light. His burly chest, covered by a thick black shirt, appeared first, then his pants and shoes. Finally, Victor looked into his face, biting back a gasp. Half of the man’s face was still clad in silicon skin, as taut as if newly pressed from the factory. It loosely zig-zagged down over the middle of his face, bits beginning to peel, covering part of the nostril, lip and chin. The other half was bare metal skull. Vines of wirework wrapped around his head, shielding the gears for the most part. The line for the cheekbone lit from white to green, illuminating the floor in front of him. His eye spun in all directions, the mechanism sputtering as he looked down at Victor, assessing, before finally speaking. “Your coat will do.”

“My coat?”

“It will make a good bed for the rats. Come,” he instructed before Victor could splutter a reply, turning to gesture at the shape of a car in the distance. Victor followed, slowly peeling off his coat slowly to keep the warmth wrapped around himself as long as possible.

The rustic green paintjob shed flaking chips as Victor pulled the lever on the door, closing it as quickly as he could behind him to keep out the wind. The man took the coat from Victor without a word and flung it aside before starting the engine and rolling out. Where the man managed to find this Lada, much less how he got the Soviet era relic to run, perplexed Victor. Not many of these Russian models existed even in St. Petersburg. If they did, they resided in museums, not spewing black smoke as they drove down long-forgotten highways.

But it didn’t matter—he was on his way to the location on the paper. Wherever it was, Victor ardently hoped Yuuri was at least cared for. Though the peculiarity of the name sent a single shiver down his spine as he thought back to the first time he’d heard the word starling.

_A bird perched on the windowsill where Victor sat in the observatory, reading, taking him from the studies his very young mind had grown tired of ages ago. The figuration of programmable mathematics was always so_ boring _. He giggled, a new fascination as surprising as it was tempting. A bird! Someone to talk to! At least, if it didn’t take flight the moment Victor got closer. Tossing the book aside, he crouched until he was eye level with the bird. He stared, mesmerized as its iridescent plumage changed from black to green to a deep blue as light gleamed off the feathers, white dots adorning each like painted jewels._

_“Aren’t you supposed to be studying?” a sweet voice chided from behind him, startling him. He flinched reflexively, but as he turned, he saw the playful grin on his mother’s face._

_“But look, Mama!” Victor pointed. “A myna bird.”_

_Victor’s mother joined next to him, folding her legs under herself as she kneeled on the floor. She inspected the bird, face stiff and eyes intent, the way she always looked when she was thinking. “Correct,” she said, letting her silver hair fall on Victor’s shoulder as she leaned against him. “They’re called starlings where we come from.”_

_The last word deflated Victor’s excitement and he breathed out a hissing sigh, slumping until his head rested in his hand. “Are we ever going home?” he asked, eyes fixated on the world of concrete outside the window. Oh, how he longed to hear the seagulls cry._

_His mother’s hesitance weighed in the strained way she gathered him into her arms. He didn’t understand why, but he felt it. “When the war’s over, when it’s safe. I’ll take you skating! At a real rink in Russia. Skaters are heroes in Russia, you know.”_

_The soul inside him leapt before he did at the thought. Victor squirmed to turn in her embrace before wrapping his arms around his mother, beaming. “Mhm. Take me now! I can be a hero now!”_

_She laughed. She really laughed. A laugh Victor hadn’t heard since they’d arrived, the lilting one that meant she was happy, earnestly so. Victor’s grin widened into a heart shape at the sound. “Oh, Vitenka, you never cease to surprise me!” She giggled again, the oft thin line of her mouth curled up into smile. “Alright, I’ll call Yakov; he owes me a favor,” she said as she ran her fingers through his hair, pushing the locks back until both eyes shone bright and blue in the reflection of her glasses. She kept him there for a moment, as if seeking to memorize his features. Her eyes darkened from brown to almost black, her skin sallow and sinking into the bones of her face as she stared, a ghost of herself living in that moment._

_What was the look in her eyes? Uneasiness? Dread? A child’s mind feels more than it understands, and Victor began to fidget where he stood. If she would just let him skate, just let him be the hero, he could make her smile again. He knew it. She seemed to catch on, blinking a few times before shaking her head. Wet droplets fluttered as she opened her eyes, but she never wiped them away. When Victor asked why she never wiped her tears, she told him sometimes grownups play pretend, too._

_She cleared her throat, planting a firm grasp on both of Victor’s shoulders. The same intense look returned as she spoke. “But first, answer me this: A starling is known for its ability to mock other birds. They can imitate meadowlarks, jays, and hawks. Sound like them in every possible way. But can a starling ever really be the same as a meadowlark?”_

_“They’re both birds,” he said, shrugging. His mother remained silent, pensive._

_The door opened, drawing both their gazes Dr. Darkschewitz and Victor’s father walking in. None of them exchanged words, but Victor saw the fierce fire in his father’s blue eyes as he nodded to his mother. His father waved at Victor, the ice blue flames dying to a low kindle as his wrists flashed against the light. Victor’s father was always naked without his wristwatch, he told him time and again._

_The gleaming gold flare scared the starling, and it huffed and ruffled its feathers before flying away. “Oh no, Mama! The starling!” Victor cried, rushing to the window with an arm stretched out. He wanted to catch his new friend._

_She rose, giving a light kiss to Victor’s forehead before sweeping his bangs back into place. “Always know the difference between a meadowlark and a starling, Victor.”_

_Victor could still feel that kiss on his forehead. A memory imprinted against his scalp. Always wet, and always the last one._

The lights of the city twinkled like stars against the horizon, pulling Victor from his thoughts. His heart fluttered, anticipation and excitement sending fissures of electricity throughout his body. He wasn’t electrocuted by his own enthusiasm, but he was alight. His joy formed a smile on his lips, the heart-shaped one he sported when he was truly happy.

The neon sign spelled Starling’s Eatery so boldly, Victor saw it before the car ever halted. Flashes of hot pink reflected in the windshield, dyeing the metal on the driver’s face with a rosy flush. “Now, your sweater,” the man commanded as Victor turned to pry the door open.

Victor’s hand roamed over the fine material of his sleeves as he repeated, incredulously, “My sweater?”

The man nodded, hitting the lock on the door. “Fee to start was coat. Fee to stop is sweater.”

Nothing would sway the resolution in the man’s voice, and Victor knew it. Begrudgingly, he started to pull up the hem. “I really hope the rats enjoy cashmere.” Victor smiled as he spoke, though his words were tainted with annoyed aggression as he ripped off his sweater, tossing it to the front to join his coat. With no protection, his skin immediately reddened as he stepped out onto the sidewalk, the cold clinging to him bitterly.

“This is for the racoons,” the man corrected, already steering away as Victor shut the door.

He watched the old car drive away, he last bit of soot swirling around him like fog. As the remnants of the exhaust faded, Victor turned, staring at the silhouette of a woman’s body outlined in the same pink neon as the name. It was where Yuuri was, so he shrugged, then bounced in through the door, the steel cool to the touch despite the humidity on entry. The scent of sweat and skin assaulted him from the moment he walked in, the only brightness the spotlights on the stage and the strips of neon circling the cavernous room, a gaping, garish theatre furnished with round cherry leather booths. Nothing could be tackier than to add velour pillows and rose scented candles to the mix, and Victor was not surprised to see some stems of candles off in the distance, casting shadows on a thin veiled curtain. Holograms flickered atop the tables and Victor could see the forms of people seated in booths. Like an apparition popping in and out, the hologram changed, rotating through men and women of every type.

The board behind him lit up as the image of a girl popped up on the screen. “Hiya!” she waved, her pigtails bouncing as she tilted her head. Her red hair looked orange against the studio light, but maybe that was the look they were going for, Victor thought as he took in her entire costume. She wore a teal and white striped shirt beneath sapphire colored overalls, both three sizes larger than her small frame. “Welcome to Starling!” she giggled, the rouge on her cheeks warming a deeper pink over her skin. “Can I getcha seated?”

“Umm…” he contemplated, bringing his finger to his chin. Most voice activation needed a word to trigger, and even if she seemed real through the screen, Victor heartily doubted she was. “I’m actually looking for someone. His name Yuuri.”

The girl put her finger to her lips. “Hmm…does not compute.” The screen flickered and the girl reappeared, her face so close to the screen it should have been squashed against the glass. “Did you mean the special of the day…Katsudon, extra-large?”

“No, I didn’t come to eat…I’m looking for Yu—”

“It only registers names of food,” a voice behind him interrupted. As Victor turned, the woman waved, a genuine smile on her face. She looked over his frame, and Victor realized he was bare chested and probably seemed deranged. He put his hand on his chest, beginning to stammer an explanation when she put up a hand to hush him. “You must be new,” she said in answer, her dark curls bobbing at her neckline as she motioned her head. “I’ll show you around.”

“What is this place?” Victor asked as he looked around. Bright beams shined down on silver poles that formed a square, with one more in the center.

“An eatery?” she cast a bewildered look in his direction and tugged at the hem of her black dress, the leather squeaking as it stretched around her posterior. By the quirked brow that arched in the same dramatic fashion as her winged liner, it looked like she would ask why Victor was here if he didn’t know, but no such question came from her pale lips. Instead, she pulled back a curtain, stepping into the darkness. “It’s a place for those who want to dine in pleasures beyond food,” she explained as she motioned to a man in the corner. A lady with a white, chin-length bob was grinding on a man whose head was tilted back, mouth hanging open in bliss.

“Like a strip club?” Victor asked as they slipped into a cramped corridor, lit by a bare bulb hanging from a string overhead yielding a soft glow. The hall wasn’t wide enough for two to walk side by side, so Victor followed a step behind. Anticipation and apprehension webbed inside his mind, each line of thread connected to the next, hinged on these final steps. He could count them now.

“Wow, you don’t get out much do you?” She put her hand on her hip and cocked her head to the side as she spoke. “Strip clubs are for humans. Eateries are for Synthetics.”

“What’s the difference?”

The shine glossed over the girl’s white teeth, catching the lascivious glean in her smile. “Nothing is illegal in eateries,” she stated emphatically before waving her hand. “C’mon, I’ll take you back to Yuuri. That’s why you came, right?” she asked rhetorically. Of course, she heard him say his name. She put her finger to her lip to signal silence and dipped through door in front of them, her lithe frame barely needing a gap to slip in.

“That’s enough!” bellowed a voice so loud and overbearing, it bled through the thin door, shaking the wood slightly.

“Sumi-sumimasen.”

All of Victor’s functions stopped. Breathing, heartbeat, blinking, everything. That was Yuuri’s voice, imprinted in his mind from the very first time he’d heard him back at SHIP. Why was Yuuri saying sorry, and in that soft, brittle tone? Gingerly, Victor crept closer, letting his ear press against the door.

“None of that stupid Japanese speaking shit!” the deep voice bellowed, and Victor heard Yuuri choke out a squeak. Over what? Victor’s body heated, irritation overlapping into the folds of rage that seethed just beneath his surface as he pushed harder against the door to better hear. “I bought you to talk to customers like that, not me! If you weren’t so damn pretty, you wouldn’t be worth the headache. Where’s that little techie of his? Yeah, you…go find that tiny blond thing. Should be somewhere around here.”

Victor stepped back just in time to avoid the door flinging open into his face as the woman who brought Victor down the hallway dashed out of the opening before slamming it shut. “Now might not be the best time.” She offered a weak smile in apology.

The levy broke. The questions he kept at bay, the fear rising in his gut now mixed with anger and spilled over. “What’s wrong with Yuuri?” Victor’s voice came out more demanding than he intended. Hearing Yuuri in distress beat against him until he was left raw, his throat stinging with the pain of controlling his need to barge in.

“Look, this place is nice for those who want to be here. But the boss doesn’t like that Yuuri comes with…technical difficulties.” She tried to shy away from the last words, looking down.

“I know.”

“You know?” Her voice is riddled with more questions she doesn’t ask, biting her lip as if to keep them at bay, but, “Any you still came for him?”

“Yes.” What else was there to say? Victor spent the entire day on a scavenger hunt after spending three months in anticipation of coming back and seeing Yuuri. He’d considered asking Yuuri on a date today, since he said he’d never been on one.

“You are one weird Joe, I’ll say that. Follow me.” Her hand tipped the door back open, the light from the room casting small white pinpricks of glare on her purple-painted fingernails. The gloss reflected as the door birthed open, and Victor stared, flummoxed, as the straight line started zigzagging to the beat outside the walls. The lines painted on her nails danced to the music, each pulse a higher or lower variable depending on the depth of the bass echoing in the room; the beat of a heart.

Metal clanged against the wall, banging and echoing in the tight perimeters. Victor jerked around, catching sight of a stout man ranting, mostly beneath his breath. “…Fucking metalheads.” The man raged on as paced back and forth in the tiny dressing room, waddling with his plump form. He tossed his hands into the air as his tirade turned more tumultuous. “Give the deposit box feelings, they said. It will be good for business. Why does a dumpster need feelings for, anyways? Every fucking day jittery! Over what?!?” he hollered against a curtain; it rippled in return. “Your entire function is pleasure! He might as well be def—” He stopped as his eyes landed on the girl, the twitch of his mustache slowing as he exhaled, “Oh, did you find him?“

The girl’s warmth faded. “No, ahh, Mr. Saccharine…There’s some good-looking foreigner here to see Yuuri.”

“So? There’s a lot of people asking for a meal. Why’d you bring this—” For the first time the owner looked at Victor. He stopped, mouth open, and eyed at his pale, chiseled chest. The look he gave was unsavory but not entirely nauseating. “This man who can’t even be bothered enough to come in a shirt! I run a decent establishment and you’re what? Trying to sample?” Mr. Saccharine shrugged, his short neck disappearing into his shoulders as his face reddened splotchily.

“He asked for Yuuri. By name….his real name,” the girl clarified. The curtain behind her fluttered as metal crashed against the floor. Toes skittered behind the curtain, peeking out as it ruffled, then suddenly opened.

“Yuuko?” Yuuri gawked, rubbing his eyes as if to dispel a mirage, the robe around his shoulders falling to his elbows as he flailed. “V-Victor? What are you doing here?”

Yuuri’s eyes, though wavering between tangential excitement to dread, shimmered warmly, just like they had the first night Viktor had met him. Brown, such a deep, nutty color that reminded Victor of every decadence he ever indulged in, and even then, they were sweeter. Everything else around Victor glazed over; all the filters left Yuuri the focal point. Now, he just had to tell Yuuri he’d come back for him, just like Yuuri said he could.

Victor stood topless, but from inside the room, he probably looked entirely naked. He lithely stretched out his arm, his hand cupped as if to take Yuuri’s into his own. “Yuuri! Starting today, I’m—”

“You’re gonna pay for his time or you’re gonna get the hell out!” the boss said callously, holding his hand out towards Victor expectantly. “I’m the proprietor here and I ain’t got time.”

Victor rifled through his wallet, inspecting it for currency. “Here. What do I need to pay you for him? For all of his time, permanently.”

“What?” the owner snapped, and Yuuri shrank back at the sound. Violence had never before sounded like a solution, but in that moment, Victor could see the appeal. Mr. Saccharine grabbed Yuuri by the elbow and Victor had to bite back the need to accost the man until his smug, pug nose poured blood. He owned Yuuri, as much of a sour taste the thought left him with. Victor had to play the part in order to get Yuuri out of here. “Wait…you wanna buy this hunk of junk? For real?”

“Yes. If he wants me?” He directed his question to Yuuri, who lurched back, dumbfounded.

Yuuri nodded his head up and down, slowly but increasing in speed as it seemed the idea fully sank in. “Y-yes.”

_God, yes._ Victor thought, relief unfolding into more confidence as he stood a little taller.

“Just…there.” Mr. Saccharine pointed, scoffing, “Give me your watch.”

“My watch?”

“Anyone can exchange currency. Droids don’t mess with money much…but that they might use.”

Victor looked down at the gold encircling his wrist, the same that had startled the starling. The navy face was flecked with gold dashes and wreathed in diamonds. The gilded hands ticked in the same repetitive circle as they always had, counting the moments of his life second by second.

“Okay.” There was no hesitance in his voice as he acquiesced, unclipping the band and letting it slip off his wrist. Victor lifted it up, reading the engraving on the back: _Every day, a new hero is born_. He shoved down the sting in his throat as he chucked the watch over with feigned insouciance. He had grown up. He knew when to play pretend.

Naked. Victor felt naked without the weight of the watch hugging his wrist. They could take his coat, his shirt—he could walk around without pants or underwear and still never feel as stripped as he felt relinquishing the gold band. He flicked his wrist a few times, adjusting to the lightness as he watched the boss try to contain the drool dribbling at the corners of his mouth.

Mr. Saccharine’s eyes crossed as he inspected the watch, the gold gleaming in the light as he rolled the band through eager and greedy fingers. He looked over, a snide grin growing until his rounded cheeks were completely circular, puffing up to cover his eyes as he demanded, “And your pants.”

By the time Victor was done with his payment, he’d shed nearly all of his remaining clothing. The scanty bikini briefs provided the only shield for his modesty as he stood in the center of the room, and it was a thin shield at best. 

“And he still goes on tonight.” Mr. Saccharine emphasized the last word with the poke of his finger against Victor’s bare chest, his clammy hand leaving a cold spot in its wake. “I got patrons coming to see him tonight.” The door shut with the finality of those words.

The room now vacant besides Yuuri and himself, Victor appraised the situation. Victor’s need to pull Yuuri to himself and hold him there left his arms numb with the ache, but the look on Yuuri’s face stopped him. Yuuri’s eyes fell to his feet as he disrobed, holding the terry cloth out to Victor.

“Here…ummm…” Yuuri’s cheeks flushed a light pink and his eyes darted from the floor to Victor and back as he spoke. “I have to go on anyway. You can wear this.”

“Thank you, Yuuri.” Victor let his name play on his tongue, his heart surging as he watched the flush on Yuuri’s cheeks deepen at the sound. The robe fit snug around his larger frame but closed enough so the sash tied neatly at his hip. Yuuri’s eyes skittered around the floor as he shifted his weight, crossing his arms over his bare torso. Now, he was the one left nearly bare, save the form fitting navy shorts that barely covered the tops of his thigh, hiking up in the back over the swell of his ass. “Do you want to go on?”

“I like dancing…and...” Yuuri didn’t need to say it, Victor knew. This was his function here. Pleasure. If a droid was obedient to their function, they couldn’t be dangerous. He’d read it enough to regurgitate if asked, but seeing it up close today brewed a distaste for the confinement of the role. Especially now, when all Victor wanted to do was take Yuuri back to the hotel and then on the earliest flight back to St. Petersburg. 

They left, trudging down the narrow corridor once more, stopping at the curtain. Before Yuuri pulled back the drapery, he turned, throwing his arms over Victor’s shoulders. “I’m going to become a tasty katsudon…” He paused, searching for words, “So, watch me. Only me. Please!” Yuuri’s voice rang with a desperation Victor couldn’t place, but he nodded stiffly as Yuuri pulled away and stepped onto the stage.

“Now taking the stage,” an unseen announcer called, “A taste of sweet and savory all the way from the Japanese islands. A tasty little dish with a lot of flavor…K-K-K-K-Katsudon!!!”

The music began, checkered squares on the stage floor lighting in blue bordered neon in time with the music as the snare snapped at every second beat. Yuuri wrapped his hand around the pole the way he’d wrapped his arms around Victor’s shoulder that night, with the strength of a warrior and the delicacy of a debutant. The roar of applause as he twisted his thighs around the pole, in perfect rhythm to the pulsing bass, only proved what Victor knew all along.

Yuuri was a star. Bright and brilliant and burning as he shot off on one foot, holding his other leg over his head, the lean muscle stretched and spreading his thighs tantalizingly. The audience showered him in a cacophony of praise as he dipped low and raised his head with a snap, his hair swaying back with the force. Yuuri started grinding with his back against the pole, the cleft of his ass hugging it for a moment as he cocked his head in Victor’s direction, giving him a smirk.

Victor whistled in reply, a look of satisfaction curling into a smile. Visions of those legs wrapped around his torso, those eyes rolling back as the pleasure he gave rippled through Yuuri’s body over and over again entranced Victor as he watched the rest of his dance. Every movement on the pole felt as if it were performed on his body. Watch only Yuuri? Victor could handle that.

“Not bad. If you’d act like that every night, maybe I should’ve charged this Joe more,” the owner scoffed as Yuuri stepped off the stage, disappearing behind the curtain without a word, but Victor caught the surreptitious glimmer in his eye that told him Yuuri no longer cared what the boss thought. Mr. Saccharine turned to Victor. “Well, I’ll have my secretary do all the legal mumbo jumbo and send it to you. The institute can take care of the rest. That nugget-sized techie of his is switching the function to you now.”

The anticipation of seeing Yuuri emerge from behind the curtain once more left Victor in a daze. They could get out of that noxious hot box, and Victor could find some real clothes, and—

“Minami-kun! _Hanase!_ ” Yuuri’s voice snapped Victor out of his trance and he snapped his head around. Yuuri was coming out, with two hands clasped around his waist.

“Wait! Mr. Nikiforov.” Victor recognized the high-pitched squeal before he turned around. Minami’s eyes watered as he pleaded, “You…you can’t take him out of Detroit. Please!”

“Why?” Victor asked.

Minami’s eyes shifted as he unwound himself from around Yuuri’s torso. “I…I need to see him at least once a week. And…I can’t leave. So he can’t leave!”

Eatery Yuuri from this Chapter:  


A huge thank you to RainySora for this art! find more of her amazing work here:  
[RainySora](https://twitter.com/rainysorarts)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Yuuri's back! 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, kudoing, commenting, and just being interested in general. It means more than words can convey. 
> 
> See you Wednesday! Tune in next week to see where the hell Yuri's been, and what the tag finger guns mean!
> 
> A huge thank you to [faeriefirefly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/faeriefirefly/pseuds/faeriefirefly) for betaing!
> 
> If you want a sneak peek at the upcoming chapters, follow the link to the playlist!  
> Synthetic Playlist  
> [Songs of the Chapter](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLN7W9U2jU8ohf0qWJ2EmN94fXbFZOCK02)
> 
> Also, if you are over the age of 18 and want a place to yell about Yuri on Ice, please join the 18oI discord!  
> [Discord 18OI](https://discord.gg/TYMxcAB)
> 
> If you’d like to follow me for updates on Twitter or Tumblr, please click below!  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/tutsibootsi)  
> [Tumblr](https://tutsibug.tumblr.com/)


	6. Madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BOOM. HEADSHOT.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****Tags for Mild Gore come into play this chapter: specifically android gore.****
> 
> If you want the full effect of ths chapter, listen to these songs:  
> Music for the Chapter  
> [GUNSLINGA ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vIaPWxMPhug)  
> [One Click Headshot ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Prs0n2Y29uI)

The lights flashed, catching Yuuri’s eyes as he stared out the window of the cab. Hints of red burned like a match lit in Yuuri’s irises and left Victor entranced by the embers each time the lamplight flickered through the glass. How long had he been staring? Since he swore to Minami that Yuuri was absolutely not leaving Detroit? Before, when Victor scrambled behind the curtain and Yuuri’s beauty once again enraptured him and wiped away all other thoughts?

“Destination: Crowne Plaza Hotel. Arrival time: 10:32pm Eastern Standard Time, 32 minutes.” The car’s monotone female voice stated as it paused at a light.

With the lull of the moment, all the exhaustion that clung to Victor’s spine expanded, each of his vertebra weighing him down to the seat as sleep threatened to seize him. Was he really this tired? He hadn’t even realized he ached with fatigue. Somewhere in his brain, before the very last light switched off, he watched a replay of the day’s events in fast forward, until all he saw were a pair of beautiful brown eyes shimmering back at him. The robe wrapped around him was warm and soft against his skin, lulling him into the rhythms of slumber. Everything went black…

“You have reached your destination, Crowne Plaza Hotel. Please exit the vehicle securely on your right. Thank you for choosing Hubb’s Self-Driving Taxi Service.” The pleasant automated tone dragged a reluctant Victor back from sleep.

 _I think I preferred the old man. He was quiet,_ Victor thought, huffing a muted laugh to himself as he exited the car. A rumble stirred in his gut, growling low and vicious. When was the last time he ate? Did he even eat anything today? “Hungry…” Victor whined through the tired rasp in his throat, blinking through the gritty fog of sleep. Those eyes again. He met them with a smile, searching them for any indication of how Yuuri felt. When they had left the eatery, Yuuri had looked relieved as they entered the cab, his shoulders relaxing as the neon lights faded into the distance. But now, Yuuri seemed riddled with anxiousness and awe, a look of bewilderment drawn tight over his face. “Do you eat, Yuuri?”

Victor’s question prompted a gasp from Yuuri, followed by a flush quickly spilling over his cheeks. “Umm…yes. I mean, no! I don’t have to, but I can!” Yuuri’s arms were propellers, waving round and wide as he backed through the glass door, missing the automated opening of the entryway. Yuuri toppled backwards, flipping over himself

If the day’s events had taught him anything, it was that androids were not cold, logical, function-bound automatons portrayed in advertisements. Perhaps the Synthetic serum had something to do with it, but as he watched Yuuri regain his bearings, placing his hand on his head to steady himself, he couldn’t help the amused grin growing on his lips. Far from the Eros model he’d envisioned and experienced, or even what he saw on stage earlier, this Yuuri’s head hung low as he lamented under his breath while rising to his feet. Yet this version of Yuuri was equally as captivating.

“Yuuri!” A woman’s ecstatic voice shot through the hotel’s lobby. She came into view, her small stature barely above the height of the check-in counter. Her feet rapidly padded across the tile floor with a sound reminiscent of a stridulating cicada, high pitched and enthusiastic. She stopped on her heel in front of Yuuri, her round body jiggling with the motion. Her smile spoke of many things, though Victor couldn’t pinpoint any of them. The joy in her eyes spoke even louder, sparkling much in the same manner the first night Victor met Yuuri. “Welcome back,” she said, her voice now edging on timidity in sharp contrast to her boisterous call a moment ago.

“You know him?” Victor asked.

The woman shifted, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she clasped her hands together. “Ah, well, we have a lot of Synthetics come over from SHIP with donors,” she explained easily enough, her eyes lingering on Yuuri before sliding to Viktor. “Yuuri’s one of my favorites.”

Victor shot Yuuri a perplexed glance, quirking his brow. “I thought you said you’d never been on a date?”

“Huh? Dat-ou?” Yuuri’s accent hung on the last word, as if it were unfamiliar in his mouth. Victor tried to shake how ridiculously cute that was. He failed, smiling wide as he looked down, starting to reach out to wrap an arm around Yuuri’s shoulder, only to stop at the sound of a familiar voice.

“Victor! Where have you been?” The tone was playful but chastising, an undercurrent of worry audible to one who knew the speaker well.

“Chris!”

Chris stopped, hand on his hip as he looked Victor up and down, a wry grin curling his lips. “Better question, where are your clothes?”

Explaining the day’s events left Victor out of breath by the time he swiped his wrist against the hotel room door, unlocking it. Yuuri trailed behind as they entered, silent save the scratching sound of his nails dragging across the jeans he now wore, having changed before they left the eatery. Victor kept peeking at Yuuri from the corner of his eye, curious to see what he would do next. Wisps of black hair flew around Yuuri’s head as he startled at the sound of the door shutting with a snap. His wide eyes and pinked cheeks endeared Victor, and he withheld the urge to wrap his arms around the android to soothe and steady him. Instead, he sighed heavily, though his voice still carried its light tone. “…and then we got back here. Right, Yuuri?”

“Ahh, yes.” Yuuri’s voice was soft, tender, more like when he was introduced to Victor at the institute. Certainly far more reassuring than the haunting screams of when he’d left SHIP that first time.

The mattress bounced under the weight of Chris’s body as he plopped down on the bed, ruffling the white sheets. Another cheeky grin slid over his mouth as his eyes burned with curiosity. “So you two are staying here? Permanently?” The question burrowed in with a bite, even if Chris’ voice remained good-humored.

“Not here…I’ll have to get an apartment.” Victor clapped as he spoke, a tingle thrumming of excitement up his spine to rest on his shoulders at the prospect. “Oh, that will be fun! I haven’t gone house hunting in ages! Yuuri, what sort of place would you like?”

Yuuri flinched, bashfulness playing across his face as he barely looked over, stammering, “Oh, umm…”

“Victor…” Chris’s whine tried to pull him from his thoughts, but the ideas swirling in Victor’s mind were louder. He’d be with Yuuri, but what would they do in Detroit? Could he teach Yuuri to skate?

“We could bring Makkachin once we settle!” Victor almost squeaked at the thought bursting forth with no filter.

“Victor!” Chris’ unusual snapping slashed through the picture in Victor’s mind of him with Yuuri and Makkachin, all cuddled up together under a throw on a cozy couch.

“What?” he looked to Chris, blinking the daydreams from his eyes.

The laissez-faire aura typically surrounding Chris soured and prickled as he crossed his arms, his smile drained and turned into a frown. “Have you talked to Yakov? How will you skate?”

“Oh.” Victor brought his finger to his lips, considering. “I’m not going to.” He shrugged as he sank into the desk chair, letting his weight tip the high back over just enough so that his fringe rested against the top of the chair.

“What?” both Yuuri and Chris spat simultaneously. Chris’s penchant for the dramatic left his voice shriller as he pulled his hand to his chest, feigning astonishment. Maybe Chris was actually shocked. Victor smiled at the thought; he liked surprising people.

A chime chirped from his phone, and Victor fumbled through the pocket of the robe to retrieve the device. It sat flat against his palm, projecting upward with a flicker of blue light. Yuri Plisetsky’s head and shoulders spun around, and even washed in blue and green from the hologram, his glower was piercing. “Hey asshole, get to the Fowling,” Yuri’s message demanded. “I have someone picking you up in an hour.”

Victor turned to Chris as the figure faded back into his phone. “I don’t know what that is. Do you want to come?”

“I’m always coming, Victor. I thought you knew that by now.” Chris smirked, the tension between them lifting with the jest. Chris crossed his legs, positioning his fingers atop his knee like a delicate dandy. “But yes; I was going to get a drink with Phichit. I’ll just see if he wants to come to…whatever this is.” He spun his hand in the air as he spoke the last words.

“You two get drinks after?” Victor bantered back, his voice light and teasing. 

“Hush. He likes to have a good time. So do I.” Chris flung his head back, side-eyeing Victor with a jaunty gleam in his hazel eyes. The cloth of Victor’s robe had parted, leaving an open trail of skin up the insides of his thighs. He asked pointedly, “Now you, what are you going to wear?”

“Something that won’t be used as currency.” Victor would prefer to keep his suits, if at all possible. Everything he owned came with a designer label, and it seemed that if androids had no sense for wearing fashion, they could certainly sniff out the price tag.

“Ah, Victor,” Chris laughed deep from his stomach, “I have just the thing!”

***

Phichit, Victor found, knew Yuuri well.

“Yuuri!” Phichit chimed as he stepped up to the sidewalk, his smile open and inviting, much more reminiscent of how Victor envisioned the Eros models before meeting Yuuri, even if Phichit was a bit more youthful and less sultry. However, his smolder had to be potent enough that having someone as salacious as Chris wouldn’t overpower him. Phichit complimented him. _SHIP really does have a model for everyone,_ Victor thought, watching Phichit welcome Yuuri with a wave, asking about how Yuuri was, where Yuuri went, what Yuuri was doing, all rapid-fire. Yuuri brushed off most of the questions, fielding them back to Phichit, who excitedly pulled out his hand to reveal his new upgrade: a screen that rose out of his palm.

“See, Yuuri? I can get better angles this way!” Phichit giggled with the thrill of a child, wholesome and innocent.

Chris stepped up behind both of them, and Victor bit back a laugh as Chris placed a hand on both of their waists, breathing deeply in his husky voice, “Phichit, you didn’t tell me you two were so…well acquainted. I’d have invited him to join us.”

Yuuri spluttered, eyes wildly searching Victor’s face as he flailed his hands as if to dispel the notion. “Uh…no! no! We’re not! I perform my function.”

Function. Everything Victor had read about function ran counter to what he saw today, and if Yuuri’s frantic reaction was anything to go by, it was something to be feared. Unfazed by the word, Chris just laughed heartily at Yuuri’s response, giving Yuuri a swift smack between the shoulders as he shook his head and winked at Victor. Chris didn’t know function felt as cold as a curse.

“Yuuri!” Phichit giggled at Yuuri’s mortification, the latter’s face lit like a brilliant bulb as he covered his eyes.

A car screeched and rattled as it pulled up to the curb, sputtering hoarsely as the exhaust cloaked the sidewalk. Another station wagon-type vehicle Victor couldn’t place the make or model of, but by the rust bordering the frame, he thought it unlikely it was built in the last century. “Nikiforov?” the man asked. Victor nodded. The man quickly waved his hand, beckoning. “In, in then! All’v’ya! I ain’t got all night. They’ll start soon!”

“Where are we going?” Phichit asked the driver, his happy-go-lucky voice warm in the cold of the night.

The man tipped the brim of his fedora up. “Fowling. Gotta circuit lineup tonight, and I got all my nuts on a real ringer!”

The winding roads and jarring starts and stops felt familiar as the car jostled them in their seats. The new and reconstructed buildings standing high dwindled, growing shorter and smaller the farther they got from downtown, until rubble reappeared on the seemingly vacant streets. Victor knew better now.

Yuuri sat wedged in the corner in the backseat. From the view of the front seat, Victor watched as he wrung his hands over and over, trying to disappear while Chris and Phichit lined up for scan after scan of themselves striking different poses. He didn’t dream of his reunion with Yuuri behind a barricade of mold-scented seats traveling to another unknown destination. He wanted to get to know the day to Yuuri’s night. He rather liked the study in contrasts he’d seen in Yuuri thus far; it played in his heart like a violin, sometimes soft and musing, other times fast and furious, deafening all other sound. He wanted to hear more.

“Alight! We’re ‘ere!” The cabby pointed to a gated opening in the chain link fence, “All ‘umans go through dere, goddit? We can, too, but dere’s only one door for the like o’ ya.”

Funnels of dust and smoke whirled past as the four stood on the sidewalk. Bits of green broke through the concrete, leaving an obstacle course of weeds and cracked cement. Through the diamond-shaped grid of the fence, Victor could see a large steel building. No lights shone through any crevice. The warehouse was entirely dark, appearing uninhabited and abandoned. Victor now knew better.

“What’s it to you?” a voice snapped from the dark as they reached the opening. Something scratched and sparked. Suddenly, Victor could see a grimacing mouth and a blocky chin lit by a long match. Victor gathered himself, pushing his hands flat against his leather jacket. That’s right, he was wearing a leather jacket! Of course, Chris carried a leather jacket with him.

“I said, what’s it to you?” he barked again.

“Oh, ummm…we’re here to see Yuri.” Victor tilted his head as he gave his most adorable grin.

“That so?” The match died out and was replaced with a new one. “You got any players?” he asked, a knuckle out between Yuuri and Phichit suggestively.

“No, no players,” Victor replied.

“Fine, but if you’re wearing any funny stuff…” He lifted his hand to point to the sensor bar overhead. “…that’ll zap you dead. We don’t let any humans fuck with the frequencies. And we ain’t going back online for no one.”

Warily, Victor went first, placing his boot under the bar, stretching his robotic leg out, mirroring his shadow at dusk. He winced, waiting for the sensor to sense metal where bone and cartilage should be. Nothing. The beam remained silent and unobtrusive.

The man shook his head, slamming an open palm on the stool next to him. It shook with the impact as he motioned everyone forward. “Fine, fine! Get in! It’s almost time anyways.”

Inside, energy buzzed through the wide-open warehouse, the capacious space swallowing the noise of the crowd fixated on something he couldn’t yet make out in the center. They waded through clouds of dense fog billowing up from the concrete floor, meandering through the throng to groups of outliers around a caged arena. Each figure echoed the looks Victor had encountered at the market earlier, neon swathed over animal print, mismatched with mesh and spandex, skintight and curated with an edge. Victor wrapped his arms over his chest, feeling the rub of the mesh he also wore. Beneath the black leather jacket, a nebulous red design feathered over his torso, the color saturated over his left abdominal muscles like a target. At least clad in the jacket, his dark jeans, and boots, he assimilated into the crowd rather than sticking out like a sore thumb.

“Have you ever been here before?” Chris called over the noise to Phichit. The music thrummed with a deep bassline that pulsed in time with the lights beaming blue, magenta, and yellow from above, weaving streams in the fog over the crowd. 

“No, but I’ve heard of it!” Phichit’s eyes were wide with wonder as he put his palms on a wooden barrel, using it to launch into excited jumps, the lights washing his white shirt with pastels. “Wow!”

Victor looked down, catching a spark of interest in Yuuri’s eyes as well. “Have you been here, Yuuri?”

“Ah, no…”

Phichit shook his head, laughing at the thought. “Yuuri doesn’t get out much. Or won’t get out much, rather.”

“Phichit!” Yuuri chided. Before it could be discussed further, a white spotlight lit the center of the cage, and everything else stopped abruptly, all eyes on the ring.

“Welcome…” the announcer sang, raspy like a ringleader in a circus. He was poised and charismatic, garnering all focus as the light beamed down over his shimmering violet bowtie, offset by his white tank top and baggy jeans. He held the old microphone between his fingers, the black speaker made miniature in his hands. The man’s brow dipped mysteriously as he gestured widely, his palm flat like he was pulling bac a curtain. “…to The Madness!!!”

Shrill screams ricocheted off the crowd, adrenaline amplified so high the smell of sweat saturated in the air even with so few humans present. Those in front pulled on the metal fencing surrounding the cage, the links clinking with the roars from audience. Victor felt excitement throttle through him as he looked at the concave cement the announcer stood in, like the bottom of a bowl.

“On the circuit tonight…” The crowd quieted with anticipation as the announcer paused. “…your reigning champion with a newly minted last name…Yuriiii Plisetskyyyy!” The rumble of the crowd hit a new octave as Yuri rolled over the platform. Multicolored lights spiraled on either side of Yuri’s feet, propelling him forward. The blips of color turned so fast Victor could hear a quiet buzz. How fascinating! Yuri slid fast over the concrete, shooting around the circle as he raised a hand to acknowledge the crowd.

“As for the others…you’ll have to leave this in the ground to get an announcement!” A siren sounded overhead as the man finished speaking. A long gate rose from beneath like a draw bridge opening for cavalry. Five others poured in from the other side, all donned in similar wheeled shoes. One jumped, pulling his knees to his chest to the applause of the audience. As he did, the wheels on his shoes spun, shooting crisscrossing rays of gold and green beneath him.

Screens opened up in front of them, bordered in blue as the roster of competitors for whatever Victor was about to witness popped up in a list lining the screen. “Alright…everyone, make your final bets!” The man ruffled his thick mustache as he spoke. “Everyone here, take a moment to see your coaches/managers/owners, whatever. It doesn’t matter! Here we are a frequency above the function!” The screeching and hollering reached an undistinguishable level, leaving a constant ringing in Victor’s ears. The sentiment was clear: it was good to be free from function, if only for a little while.

The competitors dispersed to the edges of the cage. Yuri’s blond hair fluttered behind him as he rolled up to the sound board, mouthing words Victor couldn’t hear, but something about the looks of the person he spoke to sparked déjà vu. Dark black undercut, pale face, stocky…someone he couldn’t place. Not here.

“Oh, are you going to bet?” Yuuri asked. Apparently, Victor had been staring at the screen long enough to appear indecisive.

“Sure. Who should we bet for?”

Phichit tipped his head forward. “My bits are on Yuri.”

“Really? He’s that well known?”

“Everyone who knows the circuit knows Yuri.”

“Wow!”

“Music tonight from our very own…DJ Otabek!!!!” As the spotlight shone down on Otabek, his features became clearer. He watched as Otabek lifted a hand to the crowd, his eyes still stoic, and _— The Institute! That was it! He was the one who ran in, one of the storge Synthetics, who—_ He dropped his eyes from Otabek to Yuuri. The pain of that night still branded his heart, as white hot with Yuuri’s screams as it was in the moment. Did it hurt Yuuri too? Victor held back the sting in his throat, swallowing hard as he let his arm dangle, knocking into Yuuri, barely getting his attention but earning a smile in return.

The man in the center of the arena cleared his throat to call the crowd’s attention back, his eyes wide and brows arched dramatically as he spun around. “Now, you all know the rules! But for anyone out there who might be new…here’s what happens. The DJ will play a song. These assholes have to skate the whole time without touching the floor. If you touch the floor, you’re out! Whoever’s left standing wins the grabble!” He looked off to the side and Victor caught the cold look another man gave him. The other man’s face was so pale it nearly lost all features in the light, but his dark hair and thick brows gave enough expression on their own. The announcer sighed, throwing up his arms in defeat. “Alright! Alright! Minus any penalties, Mr. Lee wants me to say. Not that there’s much to be penalized for. You all can vote for the popular win by screaming into the madness!!!!” He paused, letting the applause die. “Now, let’s begin!”

As he moved off the stage, Victor searched for Yuri. A magenta jacket clung loosely to his slim shoulders as he kept his back turned, whispering a few words to Otabek. They shared a bit more conversation before Otabek pointed forward and leaned into Yuri’s space. Was that a kiss? Victor cursed Yuri’s hair swooping in the way as the two broke and Yuri sped off, synthetic sounds bopping as the bass thrummed low and deep.

A siren blared and everyone was off. At first, it moved like an ice show, everyone weaving in and out, between each other, slow and easy, getting their bearings. “Ooooh! Look at those skynetics!” Phichit squealed, pointing excitedly to red lights flashing as Yuri sped around a pair of broad-shouldered, thick-necked men towering over the others. They hit each other’s shoulders, fixing their eyes on Yuri as he twisted around to the side, avoiding a punch with a smirk before taking off again.

The tangled web of skaters twisted, the lights on their skates distinguishing one from another. Reds, yellows, greens, purples, a rainbow of color; each skater carried their own set of lights. Yuri himself was a whirl of red light, traveling faster than Victor could catch at first. He’d see him on one side, then in a split second, Yuri was on the other side, an apparition fueled by spite.

“You know what they are?” Chris asked, loud enough for Victor to hear.

Phichit nodded appreciatively in his direction. “Mhm. They run on a blade of hardened light,” Phichit explained, nonchalantly hooking his arm around Chris’s. Victor waited for Chris’ retort, assuming he’d make some remark on what else Phichit’s arms could used for, but none came. 

“So, like ice skates?” Victor asked, looking out as the crowd roared. Now, the two from before sped behind Yuri, wheels slicing through the air as they played their game of cat and mouse. Yuri’s wheels clicked as he turned, his legs weaving one in front of the other. A dance! In the midst of a high-speed hunt, Yuri remained composed, primed, almost cheerful, a playfulness in direct opposition to his usual state in his movements. He bent and slipped beneath another’s arm as the race continued.

A loud smack distracted them all as two now-indistinguishable players slotted together, arms and legs sticking out on either side in an effort to will the other over. Yuri turned, leaping into the air and spinning twice over their tangled legs, landing entirely unscathed on his back wheel. The crowd cheered wildly, rattling the cage as Victor’s heart raced. Yuri threw his arm up in a victorious fist pump. Victor smiled slightly in amusement; Yuri was just taunting them now.

The two tangled players fell for the ruse, and as Yuri got just within reach, he jumped, his legs splitting in the air above them so the players crashed into each other. They both went down with a wobble, hitting the concrete before their heads bobbed: out. The crowd went wild, chanting Yuri’s name. Victor was glad Yuri chose to wear tight spandex pants; they stretched and contracted around his lithe legs, the mottled silver on the ends sparkling as they caught the light. Yuri was an intimidating showman, a magnificent speeding light. A speeding bullet penetrating all in his path. 

“Kind of…but different.” Phichit shrugged, barely turning long enough to acknowledge Victor’s question.

“How so?” Victor asked as his question was answered. A burly competitor knocked into a rail-thin girl as she spun on the axis of her blade, grabbing her by the wrist while the beat kept its consistent laid-back pulse. In an instant, the smaller skater kicked up sharply, slicing into his wrist. The detached hand remained gripped on her arm. Her eyes went ravenous as she leered at the man, unhinging the fingers from her wrist one at a time. She gripped him by the thin layer of hair shooting up from his forehead, bent his head back, shoved his own hand in his mouth, and drove him to the ground.

“These can take your arm off in one swipe.” Phichit cocked a grin as he gestured.

Next to Phichit, silent, Yuuri’s eyes radiated excitement, fixed on the scene in front of him and everything else, including Victor, forgotten. He watched Yuuri’s eyes expand and his mouth drop, awestruck. The competition’s movements captured the android’s attention like nothing else Victor had seen, and he marveled at the way Yuuri’s fingers clenched around the metal wires of the fence, pushing his nose against the barrier until the button tip indented. Anything happening in the arena paled in comparison to Yuuri’s thrilled expression.

Two more sirens blared, signaling another two down. Victor returned his attention to the epicenter of entertainment, using a trained eye on Yuri as he watched him glide around the outskirts of the arena, a vulture looking for prey. He swooped in, his thin black shirt fluttering under his jacket, arm outstretched to catch the girl who Victor just saw end another five times Yuri’s size. His heart stopped as the moment froze, and then, almost in slow motion, he saw Yuri thrust his arm over the girl’s chest. Her eyes bulged from their sockets as she cracked her back against the floor. Yuri spun up on axis, one leg out behind him as he unfurled his jacket. With a skid, he tossed it up in the air, Otabek catching it with one hand, not a beat missed.

Besides Yuri, only three others remained. _Three against Yuri Plisetsky, more precisely,_ Victor thought as the other contenders began to circle, talking amongst themselves with nods toward Yuri. In a flash, they rushed at him in a line formation. As if he’d read their minds, Yuri dipped low to dodge their play, back bent. He slid beneath their legs, his shirt rolling up, exposing his pale midriff. He came up, jumping with a flourish, to the crowd’s overwhelming approval. As he turned, three hands wrapped around his arm, yanking. He spun, trying to loosen their grip. Then it snapped—his arm shot off into their eager hands, confident smirks on their faces as they clearly though they’d won the upper hand.

“WRONG ARM MOTHERFUCKERS!!!” Yuri snarled as he spat the words with venom, seething as he raised his other arm. He pointed his finger in the air, like a child playing guns. But Yuri’s pointer finger popped open, revealing a steel barrel beneath. He cocked his thumb back, then pushed down.

BOOM. HEADSHOT. BOOM. HEADSHOT. BOOM. HEADSHOT.

Yuri was a bullet, or rather, a bullet shooter.

A rush of screams and awed gasps echoed as circuits sizzled, fizzling and flashing as each droid sank to the floor. A stream of sparks flew from one’s head, cascading over another’s lifeless form beneath him. The third kept thrashing and twitching, flung a few feet over to the side, as bolts spewed from his open skull.

Yuri bent low to retrieve his sundered arm, lifting it in the air like a trophy.

The crowd roared.

It was unanimous.

Yuri Plisetsky won.

Victor from this Chapter:

Victor" />

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! I've been so excited for this chapter! I hope you liked it!  
> Thank each and every one of you for reading/liking/commenting!
> 
> Until next week!!!!
> 
> A huge thank you to [faeriefirefly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/faeriefirefly/pseuds/faeriefirefly) for betaing!
> 
> If you want a sneak peek at the upcoming chapters, follow the link to the playlist!  
> Synthetic Playlist  
> [Songs of the Chapter](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLN7W9U2jU8ohf0qWJ2EmN94fXbFZOCK02)
> 
> Also, if you are over the age of 18 and want a place to yell about Yuri on Ice, please join the 18oI discord!  
> [Discord 18OI](https://discord.gg/TYMxcAB)
> 
> If you’d like to follow me for updates on Twitter or Tumblr, please click below!  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/tutsibootsi)  
> [Tumblr](https://tutsibug.tumblr.com/)


	7. Refurbished

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of the madness leaves more than sparks flying on the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music for the Chapter  
> [Keep You on My Side ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EZdQCT5w2PA&feature=youtu.be)

“YOU UPGRADED HIM?!?” It was more of an accusation than a question, hurled in the direction of the soundboard. An Italian accent emphasized the anger in the spewed words as Victor watched a young man storm into the middle of the arena, arms thrown up in his ire. He pointed his finger like a gun ready to blaze, but it wasn’t an actual gun this time, only the puffed-up bellow of an infuriated Italian. 

The riotous crowd had died down in the few minutes since Yuri’s win, the massive throng tapering off to some stragglers. Lingering wisps of fog eddied around the steel barstools, evaporating as the warehouse lights turned on. A closing sign. Only Victor, his company, and a few crews and teams remained near the cage. Phichit entertained Yuuri and Chris, skimming through the pictures he’d managed to take, though Victor hardly knew when he’d had time. It felt like only a second between when the electronic beats started up and when Yuri stood atop the pile of automated carcasses, claiming victory. If he hadn’t been gushing sparks from the wires of his severed arm, Victor would have thought he’d traveled back in time, into a gladiator pit where Yuri was king of the lions.

Otabek simply shrugged at the man, but Victor could see his smirk growing as Yuri rolled up next to the mix stand. “You took their heads off?” was all Otabek asked, voice as low as Victor remembered from the institute, filtered with ease versus the commanding tone he recalled.

“They took my arm. We’re even. They’ll be fine.” Yuri kicked his skates off and up into his arm with on movement, his nonchalance disconcerting as he leaned over the edge, relaxing his remaining arm while the other dangled from his hand.

“Fine? Fine?!?” the man cursed in rough Italian, his hands wrapping beneath the head of the farthest droid. He lifted him up like lost salvation between his fingers, the anguish leaving him hunched over. The man looked to be barely in his twenties, though his scowl aged him. “He’s gonna need a whole rework!” his voice broke as he spat. “Cao’ll be at Lee’s for a month! Hey! Are you listening?”

Victor watched Yuri shake his head. “Why don’t you just run one of your other ones, Mickey? Like him?” Yuri pointed and Victor saw a man, bright eyed and smiling, peeking through the other side of the fence.

_Mickey, a caricature of a name for such a surly disposition,_ Victor thought as he watched the Italian scoff. “Emil? He’s not ready.”

Wiry hairs stuck out over the thin metal as the android pressed his face closer. “Mickey? Mickey!” Emil called out, waving ridiculously enthusiastically.

“Yeah, sure.” Yuri slung his severed arm over his shoulder, rolling his eyes as he vanished behind the soundboards. “That’s what humans always say!”

Yuri’s last words seemed to cut, and Mickey threw his hands up again, letting the metal head land on his knees with a _thwap_ , which rattled a few loose bolts out onto the floor. “There’s gotta be something in the rules about this! A deduction, anything?” The last fury-infused cries left Mickey’s tongue like high-pitched flames but fell on deaf ears. Victor saw the man he’d noticed before, Mr. Lee, shake his head decisively. Mickey pounded a punch into the raised floor of the arena, the hollow thud sounding like a small bomb.

“Mickey.” A woman came from behind the opening, her purple tracksuit matching Mickey’s. She crouched down, placing one soothing hand gingerly on Mickey’s shoulder while the other scooped up myriad nuts, bolts, and fuses piled beneath. “Just let it go.” Her admonishing tone made Mickey grit his teeth, but Victor watched him concede, silently lifting the remains of his skater and hoisting him over his shoulder.

“Hey, old man, what’d you think?” Victor flinched at the words and turned to find Yuri behind him. 

What did Victor think? For all the ruckus and no sleep, his body still tingled and shivered with excitement. His fingers were numb and his mind buzzed with the beginnings of something new. Years of creating had sanded the feeling down until he was polished but devoid of the rough edges that gave him character, that surprised everyone. “It’s really…” he began, but words couldn’t describe what he wanted to say. It was something fierce and new, something that had changed him. Something that had changed Yuuri, too, he thought, when he looked at Yuuri’s enraptured face as he listened to Phichit speak, warmed by a thousand days’ worth of suns at once.

“You’re gonna have to see Babs for that arm.” Otabek said as he approached from behind, gently placing Yuri’s jacket over his shoulders. His fingers worked to smooth out the crumpled side where his arm should have been.

Yuri relented, slouching defeatedly. “I know…” He tapped the marbled orb on the side of his neck, grunting a curse as the light on it fizzled out. “Goddamnit!” He looked at Otabek over his shoulder. “My emitter needs charged.”

Otabeck crossed his arms, eyes roving over Victor, then to where Phichit, Chris, and Yuuri were grouped. “So, they’re coming with us?”

Yuri shut his eyes like he was shutting out the idea, but the heavy sigh told Victor the truth: he had no choice. Yuri groaned, “They’re coming with us.”

Going with Otabek and Yuri left Victor once again strapped in a shaking vestige of a vehicle, the seats of its barely tethered interior worn and frayed, but at least the trip lasted only a few minutes. Victor kept an eye ahead, following the neon-lit path hovering under Otabek’s motorcycle. The geometric chrome plating of the bike reflected the shine of both the streetlights they passed and the neon yellow lines running along the edges of each component, making Yuri look like a grim shadow seated atop a glowing chariot as he held onto Otabek’s waist.

Lee’s Auto Repair declined to mention that auto stood for automation, but Victor concluded the necessity of such as he stepped out of the car, seeing the faded tin sign chained to the fence. If anything, the graveyard of cars sinking into the muddied gravel outside the entrance characterized the place well. Metal sheets were plastered together like a mismatched quilt, bolted high, creating walls that looked like they would collapse with a strong gust of wind.

“Oooh! I’ve heard about this place!” Phichit exclaimed, peering through the lens coming out of his arm like a scientist studying an amoeba through a magnifying glass, everything filtered and looking larger than life. The only pause from the clicking sounds of the camera came in soft murmurs as they walked down the hall. Phichit elbowed Chris, laughing sweetly as Chris wrapped his arm over his shoulder, whispering all manner of surely lascivious words in Phichit’s ear as he pressed his lips along his neck. Victor shook his head; leave it to Chris to try to find somewhere to sneak off in a junkyard.

In contrast, Yuuri’s silence was disconcerting, and if Victor didn’t know better, he’d assume Yuuri had been replaced with one of the first cleaning androids who only piped up when the tubes needed cleared. Completely generic. But even in Yuuri’s quiet, his eyes dazzled at the rusted walls and Victor could almost hear the inner monologue running through his circuits. If Victor could just reach into the void and pull out something to say to bring Yuuri’s attention back to him, he could show Yuuri he didn’t want to own him. Months of research prepared Victor for what he hoped beyond hope he could achieve: he wanted Yuuri’s freedom.

_I love your ass,_ Victor’s mind unhelpfully supplied. “Yuuri,” he started, only to get a doe-eyed glance from Yuuri and a sneer from Yuri, who whipped his head around.

What?” they said in unison, though Yuri’s came spat with venom while Yuuri’s played like a harpsichord on a cloud.

“Two Yuuri’s,” Phichit laughed, pointing. “Why don’t you just call him Yurio?”

“I’ll kick your ass!” Yuri turned and it looked like he tried to hold up his fist, but the empty sleeve just waved back and forth.

The idea was beyond hilarious and Yuri’s reaction even more so. “Calm down Yurio!” Victor laughed, and felt the relief of tension he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“That’s not my name!” Yuri whipped his head back again, growling. The fangs of his anger were surely sharpened to pierce with whatever he would say next, but he was interrupted by Otabek putting his hand on Yuri’s lower back, ushering him into the next room.

Victor heard the giggling before he saw the girl. A giddiness that reminded Victor too much of his mother, and he bit hard into his lip to stifle the memory. Victor could hear most sounds without recalling any of the pain, but that girlish laughter was a ghost that haunted aimlessly, grief leeching onto his happiness and sucking until he felt bloodless.

He pulled back, letting everyone turn into the room behind Yuri and Otabek as he paid far more attention to the walls than needed. Newspapers lined the hall from top to bottom, far removed from just yellowed in age, the print looking rusted against the metal. He read the New York Times headline, “America at War, Stands with Russia Against the Terrorists,” the image next to it showing the handshake between the President of America and the President of Russia; a picture almost as famous as the one of his parents. Almost.

Each page moved from one event to the next, headlined and dated, a war immortalized in ink and on screen. It had been a brutal war, every article detailing another grotesque slaughter spanning the entire globe. Russia, Japan, Africa, Indonesia, stretching outward and reaching cataclysmic heights as the casualties climbed. For the first time, the world was borderless, a gaping chasm between sentiences instead of land. Victor knew of the brutality, but from his vantage of a child safe behind the high white walls of the Institution in Tokyo, he saw only the soft white clouds and not the bloodied streets. Reading these headlines, Victor felt the paper-thin hope humanity had held then. It crumpled in his stomach as acid ate at the words he read, like he was spooning them in bit by bit, an alphabet soup of kerosene and decay.

“Victor?” Yuuri’s voice was as soft as a child’s song, and Victor sprang back from the article he was reading to see the concern in his eyes.

“Oh, yes. I’m coming.” Victor nodded. The faint scent of gasoline and oil hit him upon entering. He let his eyes take in the scene. A car was lifted high, almost to the ceiling, a thick steel bar bolstering it up from the center. The expanse of the room looked like a cliché garage, rubber tires inconspicuously stacked in a corner, workbenches bordering the room, a few more set precariously in the center. The only pieces of furniture were the bartender’s chairs planted next to the workbenches, mismatched and unassuming. Yet, as he saw Yuri fall back into one, Victor caught on to their purpose. These were the real workstations.

A wrench spun between nimble fingers, gears grinding as it whirled in a silver blur. A girl erupted into laughter once again, deep from her belly, as the open sides of her overall flapped and shook. The black wrap covering her top rolled up, exposing a hint of her fair skin as she clamped a hand over her stomach, rolling forward with no hint of an attempt to regain composure.

“C’mon Mila, just tell me how bad it is!” Yuri grunted as he threw his head back.

“It’s giggity wiggity in your thing-a-majiggity!” Mila hiccupped as she smacked the side of Yuri’s shoulder with the wrench, the handle thudding against her leather gloves. 

“Jesus, Mila…fix your own head why don’t you.” Yuri pulled his working hand into a fist, knocking Mila on top of her head. “Fucking screw loose.”

Mila’s blue eyes rolled wildly, head shaking in a few stutters before she righted herself, rubbing the back of her neck sheepishly. “Ahh, sorry. All these frequencies.”

“Get it together. Just tell me if you can fix it.” Yuri snarled, looking from Victor back to Mila. “I’ve got big competitions coming up. I can’t be one arm less.”

“I bet they wouldn’t try to pull your other arm off now,” Phichit offered, spinning on a low stool as he looked slack-jawed at all the items hanging on the walls and ceiling.

“Maybe. That’s not really the point,” Yuri sneered, his scowl growing as his patience wore even thinner than the usual tissue.

Mila flipped Yuri’s severed arm in the air, catching it with one hand behind her back like a baton twirler in a marching band. It flopped bonelessly, Yuri’s finger pointing down as Mila drove her nose into the open end, her red curls falling over her head until she was an upside-down mop. Pulling back, she flicked her tongue out as her eyes stared at the limp arm pensively. “A week.”

“A week!” Yuri balked, eyes bugging out of his skull.

“Yes…lieutenant.” A smirk played over Mila’s face at the last word.

Victor looked at Yuri skeptically. He’d watched him prance around the skating rink, Lilia barking orders as he spun endless circles en pointe. But any actual military designation ran counter to his abrasiveness. “Lieutenant?” Victor finally let the question fall from his lips, the word coming out as stunned as he felt.

“First Lieutenant, actually.” Otabek walked up when Yuri lay spread out over the black chair, padding spilling out from tears in the worn leather. He hung his arms over Yuri’s shoulders, letting his head rest atop Yuri’s. It was the type of gesture that years of comfortability and security allowed lovers to sink into. “The best lieutenant in the 51st Automated Infantry.”

“The war?” Victor’s question had Chris perking up, tilting his head in his own curiosity. The war wasn’t something Victor brought up, and Chris never asked him to. Chris was someone who saw the wounds without needing to ask who or what cut him, and Victor was grateful. 

“Yeah, the war. Where else would I have been a lieutenant?” Yuri retorted, eyes rolling even as they followed Mila walking over to the workstation. The arm fell limply over the scuffed surface, and Mila bent low until she matched its height, running her fingers over the silicone skin.

“Yuri’s a refurbished droid,” Mila explained, her hand now fully sheathed in the open socket. She wiggled her arm, jarring the bits inside until Yuri’s estranged index finger twisted. “We all are.”

“What? How? All of the droids from the war were discontinued…” Shut off, he didn’t say, looking over to Yuuri, who was busy searching along the lines on the back of the room. It still panged him to think of those words and what it could do to Yuuri if he heard them.

“Of course you think that.” A voice echoed from high above, sending everyone shooting bewildered looks up at the sound. Slowly, a metal bar lowered, revealing the thick black brows Victor now attributed to Mr. Lee as he slid out from underneath the car. Up close, Mr. Lee’s stoic, angry eyes gave him the look of someone who knew more than his age would imply. “They don’t want gen pop humans knowing they’ve got the same droids that put bullets in them twenty years ago hanging around, do they?” Mr. Lee tapped his finger to his temple as he asked.

Yuri snapped upright in his chair, flying forward as he screamed, “We didn’t put bullets in any fucking human!”

“We were a part of the human resistance,” Otabek clarified.

“Droids didn’t…” Victor began, but trailed off, cupping his hand around his chin in thought.

“Yes we did.” Otabek nodded along with his reply, folding his arms over his chest, wrinkling the white shirt beneath. “We fought alongside humans as brothers—”

“A lot of good that did us,” Yuri scoffed as he swung his shoulder wide to resettle the jacket on top. He kicked the chair, stomping off to the other end of the garage. “In the end it didn’t matter what side you were on. Once robots lost, we were all the same.”

Mila smiled watching Yuri walk off, the type of smile of someone who understands more what lies beneath the surface. The eyes were the window to the soul, after all, and Mila’s spoke of something deep and tragic, and almost human. She leaned over to Victor, explaining calmly, “There were raids to find androids and shut them off. And when Synthetic started, they’d sweep the suburbs, looking for us. Scarier times.” She nodded in Yuri’s direction as he fiddled with his jacket. “Yuri evaded them for a long time, but eventually, they got him. Otabek surrendered after.”

Otabek watched Yuri kicking dirt from the floor and smiled. “It didn’t matter what he’d turn in to; I’d know him anywhere. His eyes, those are the eyes of a soldier.”

“They were almost instantly in love the moment the serum was injected. Like, soulmates.” Mila’s eyes grew wide as she fawned over the memory.

Soulmates? “But…”

“You thought we felt nothing before?” Otabek asked, his deep voice full of understanding as Victor nodded. “Synthetic enhances it, but we knew how to feel.”

Tapping the outside of a finger with the flat end of a screw, Mila added, “Without Synthetic, it’s like being blind. You can sense everything, but it’s behind a wall. With Synthetic it’s like…” She paused, closing her eyes and reopening them like she was experiencing it anew. “…seeing, really seeing for the first time.”

“Then, Yuuri?”

“He wouldn’t know,” Otabek answered. “He’s always been a Synthetic.”

Before Victor could prod for any more information, a loud clang reverberated in the space before the same angry Italian accent Victor heard earlier bled through the thin walls. “Watch where you’re going, will you?!?” 

“Mickey? Sorry, Mickey!”

“Ahh, that was my head, Emil!”

They waddled in, the cumbersome droid heavy between the two of them as they shifted back and forth, trying to maintain balance. “Just toss him up on a bench. I’ll be right there.” Mr. Lee wiped off the oil sluicing down his arm with a towel before flinging it over his shoulder. 

“Sara!” A blur of purple and tan and black whizzed past Victor at Mila’s excited squeak.

“Mila!” Sara tackled Mila in an embrace.

Catching Victor’s confused gaze, she let her arms slide from Sara’s sides, the goggles over her eyes fogging. “Sara’s my owner…but she lets me work here.”

“Technicalities!” Sara waved as if wafting the idea of ownership away. Good. At least someone felt the way Victor did. Sara’s voice radiated adoration as she snaked her arms over Mila’s shoulders, resting her head in the crook of Mila’s neck. “She’s the best mechanic on the continent. Have you seen her cars? She’s redone most of the taxis from old parts from the war.”

“You make cars out of scraps of Mech?” Victor asked, thinking the of the rattling hulks he’d ridden in.

“Not only that!” Mila threw her hands on her hips, stance proud. “I also make Mechs out of scrap pieces of car.”

“You make Mechs?”

“Mmmhmm.” Mila nodded happily. “Sueng-Gil lets me when I have spare time, when people don’t blow other droids’ heads off!” She flung her voice in Yuri’s direction at the end.

“He deserved it!”

The deep shade of violet in Sara’s eyes shone in the reflection of the light as they widened. She clapped her hands together. “Oh, yeah. Mila was one of the top mechanics during the war. “

“Oh…”

“You’re,” she paused, her lips spreading thin as if she was choosing her words carefully, “You’re Dmitry and Irina’s, right?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, wow! They were those famous pilots!” Victor held back the temptation to spat at the word famous, choosing instead to let the quiet bridge the moments as Sara’s enthusiasm prickled in the air.

“Did you really bring some warheads’ spawn in here?!?” Mickey rushed over to Yuri, eyes rekindled with fire.

Yuri stepped into his space, standing as taller than his stature as his squared his shoulders. “What of it?”

Mickey’s top steamed over, his cheeks flaming red. “The main event hasn’t even started, and you want to let the only child of the people who caused all of this to happen see it! Are you insane!? He’ll tell the institute! The authorities! Those bastards—”

“Enough!” Mila’s cool demeanor shredded in a wave of anger and her voice made the walls tremble. “Not them. Talk about anyone you want. Not. Them.”

Victor searched Mila’s face for answers as he asked, “You knew my parents?”

“I worked on The Victor…ah, I’m sorry.” The evidence of the attribution of the mech’s namesake being the Nikiforov’s son wasn’t lost on Mila, and Victor watched as she shook her head to right herself, her eye softening as she looked at him full on, “You look just like them, it’s like seeing both of ‘em right on top of each other.”

“It’s alright. You probably knew them better than I did.”

“We carry a lot of our creators, even if we don’t always see it ourselves.” She looked down under the bench. “Oh, Yuri, I think I found a spare emitter.” She tossed over a small disc. “That should work until you get back to Otabek’s once you leave here.”

“Good. I can get rid of the old man.”

“Who are you calling old?” Victor smiled as he taunted, “You were in the war!”

“My parts are less than five years old. Yours?”

Even Yuuri giggled at that, a cheeky grin on his face reminding Victor of the first night he saw him. A bit of light reflected in a rainbow like a crystal against glass, and Victor spotted the shining source. There, held in Yuuri’s hand, were a pair of skates dangling from a tie. Excitement started brewing deep within as Victor walked over. The wear on the skates was noticeable, but the desire in Yuuri’s eyes was all he could see.

“Come on. I’ll find you another cab. Phichit should get back before they send someone for him.” Otabek nodded over to Phichit.

Sunlight danced on the horizon line as the day stole the night away, tucking it back under the cover of light as they walked out of the shop. And then it hit him. Everything all at once. Yuuri’s eyes during the match. The way he held those skates up.

“Mickey, he said something about another competition?” Victor tried to control the excitement bubbling beneath.

Yuri side eyed him. “Yeah. What you saw was just the tip of the iceberg. The big event’s not until the end of July.”

July? He could do it. Victor never considered coaching until the night he met Yuuri, his voice a bow pulling notes from strings in his heart he didn’t even know existed. He’d found a way to make the music sing. “Yuuri! I can be your coach!” he called out, his merriment whittling the last bit of energy from his body.

Everything went black.

***

_“He’ll be fine. He was just dehydrated.”_

_“Yuuri, you always wanted Victor as a client, right? This is better.”_

_“Yes, but…why did he pick me?”_

The words broke through the blackness, though Victor couldn’t place which voice belonged to which person. They piled on top of each other as his mind pushed forward, helplessly trying to find the word’s owners. Who picked who? Victor picked someone? A pang of sorrow whipped out and lashed against his heart. Who wouldn’t pick this voice?

The reservoirs dammed in his mind broke free, and he swam toward wakefulness. “Huh? Where am I?” Victor attempted to sit up but was wrenched backward. Everything was far too bright for his throbbing head. Lifting his hand to cover his eyes, he squinted into the room, the fuzzy blobs turning into people as he refocused.

“You, ah…passed out.” _The voice._ Victor snapped his head up, immediately wincing from the sudden movement. Yuuri sat at the edge of the bed, his legs criss-crossed as he shuffled his hips back and forth in the softest, most subtle motion, so as not to jar Victor.

“I passed out?” He gasped in pain as he sat up, but Victor was determined to get his bearings back, “How did I get up here?”

“I…erm,” Yuuri started, his hands pawing as the hem of his sweater.

“He carried you.” Phichit spoke from the other side of the room, twirling the desk chair so fast Victor felt seasick.

“Wow!” Victor’s excitement came out louder than he’d intended, and he clapped his hand over his mouth. Yuuri’s ears tinged pink on the words; Victor made a mental note to say that as often as possible.

“We figured if you were dehydrated you also forgot to eat, right?” Chris asked as a knock sounded at the door.

Did he eat? Did he drink? The events of the day could fill a book, but there would be no mention of him having a meal or taking a sip of water. The world he’d stepped into was veiled, out of sight for most humans. Food and drink weren’t exactly necessary there. Chris didn’t wait for him to answer, standing up on the other side of the bed to let room service in.

Wheels squeaked as they spun over the floor, rickety metal clinking with each step as a woman pushed the cart through the entryway. She wiggled as she bent down, picking up the tray and carrying it over to Victor. Even through the haze coating his mind, Victor knew it was the woman from the hotel lobby, her smile unforgettable. As she opened the lid, Victor was met with a sweet and savory scent that had him salivating. “Extra-large katsudon!” She clapped her hands as she bounded away, springs in the balls of her feet as she danced happily back to the cart, humming to herself. Victor would need to give a good rating for the friendly service in the hotel.

Victor stared down at the dish. “What is this?”

Yuuri startled before replying, “Ah…katsudon. Pork cutlet, egg, rice…”

The first bite tasted like he’d ascended to food heaven. “It’s delicious!” Victor exclaimed, shoveling another big bite in without so much as a breath. He hummed through the his mouthful, the flavors rolling together divinely. “VKUSNO!” he cheered. “Is that why they gave you the name at the eatery?” Victor asked as he picked bits of rice from his cheeks before flicking them into his mouth.

“Ahh…yeah. They’ve always made it for me when I come here. So that’s what I chose when I went there.”

“So, what’s Yuuri’s last name going to be?” Phichit asked, tipping his head to the side so his short black bangs fell just right, getting the perfect angle for his next shot.

“Oh, right.” Victor hadn’t thought of it yet. Androids didn’t have last names unless they were owned. Most were given a family name, in Victor’s experience, but Victor didn’t want to attach the Nikiforov name to Yuuri. He brought his finger to his lip as he pondered. “What do you want your name to be, Yuuri?”

He doubted Yuuri could look any more flustered. The android’s hands waved over his face as his eyes shifted back and forth. “Ahhh, ummm…I’ve never thought about it.” He deflated as he spoke. “Doesn’t the…owner…usually pick it? It can be your last name!”

“Yuuri, don’t you want to pick your own name?” Victor cocked his head curiously.

“What about Katsuki?” Victor looked up at the words. The hotel employee still stood nearby in her uniform, holding her hands, looking at Victor the way only a person who has grieved understands; an indescribable loneliness haunting the eyes while everything else smiles.

“Katsuki?”

The woman grabbed a piece of paper off the desk, scribbling on it. She turned it over, and Victor looked at the script. “勝生”

“The kanji means victory.” Her smile was contagious, and Victor couldn’t help the glee flowing free into his own smile. “Your…Yuuri, looks Japanese, seems to have a Japanese name. Maybe he’d like a Japanese last name as well? I knew a family by that name, they had a son that looked a lot like you, Yuuri.” Her voice trickled off and Victor knew the next words before she said them. “…before...”

Viktor saw the lonely ghosts of loss that hung in his heart echoed in the warm brown of the woman’s eyes. He knew they would never leave, but if carrying a name would lessen their glare, then Victor would do what he could. “What do you think Yuuri?”

Yuuri held the note in his fingers, eyes searching every detail of the words. “Isn’t it too strong?”

“What does the kanji for Yuuri mean?” Phichit wondered.

Yuuri sank into where he sat, disappearing into himself. “Courage to win,” he muttered.

“I like it. But if you don’t think you can win…” Victor trailed off, wondering what Yuuri would do.

Yuuri’s eyes went sharp as his brows knitted together. “I want Katsuki as my last name!”

***

“Don’t get too attached…” Chris’s voice wavered, flirting the line between seriousness and play. A finger whirling a stray curl, Chris relaxed back into the seat, wiggling, likely against the uncomfortable metal bar needling into his spine. Airport seating was always uncomfortable. No matter how many trips Victor had taken for skating, even the memory of waiting around for Aerofloat stiffened his back.

Victor remained standing, batting his eyes as he shrugged off the comment. “Chris…”

“Victor, just…listen to me, for once.” The urgency in Chris’s tone caught Victor’s attention and he peered down, the vibrance of Chris’s green eyes holding his own. He yielded, plopping down on the seat next to him.

“Okay. What?”

“Yuuri can’t fall love with you. You know that, right?”

“I’m coaching Yuuri! Besides, Phichit didn’t seem to—”

Chris held up his hand, cutting Victor off. “I’m a client. I’m a part of his job.” The words iced over as they came out, cold reality coating his summery self in bitter frost. Victor looked at Chris, really looked at him. Behind the frolicking façade of hedonistic gaiety, Chris tucked away the pain now shining plainly in his eyes. Once again, Chris was resigned to the fate of the unrequited.

aHe laughed, throwing his head back as he let out a wistful sigh. “Loving them is a sin as deep as the grave. Phichit told me there’s a chip in him, cutting off the programming for the romantic feelings. If it breaks, that’s it. He’s declared defective.” Chris looked at Victor, his eyes sincere, his voice foreboding as he said, “Tread carefully.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of moving forward!!!!
> 
> I hope you liked it! There are two additional songs on the playlist if you want to listen, Yuri and Otabek's character songs! There's a descripton for the playlist that shows what song goes to what. :) I also added a new tag, Mutual Pining! It's starting now but begins to ramp up in the next chapter.
> 
> Most importantly, how is everyone doing? We are in uncertain times, and I keep hope everyone is safe and doing as well as possible. As well, I hope reading can lift your spirits as well as entertain you. 
> 
> Keep Safe and Well!!  
> Tutti  
> A huge thank you to [faeriefirefly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/faeriefirefly/pseuds/faeriefirefly) for betaing!
> 
> If you want a sneak peek at the upcoming chapters, follow the link to the playlist!  
> Synthetic Playlist  
> [Songs of the Chapter](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLN7W9U2jU8ohf0qWJ2EmN94fXbFZOCK02)
> 
> Also, if you are over the age of 18 and want a place to yell about Yuri on Ice, please join the 18oI discord!  
> [Discord 18OI](https://discord.gg/TYMxcAB)
> 
> If you’d like to follow me for updates on Twitter or Tumblr, please click below!  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/tutsibootsi)  
> [Tumblr](https://tutsibug.tumblr.com/)


	8. Hard Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahk! Sorry for the late posting!!!
> 
> Music of the Chapter
> 
> [ Clearest Blue ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QpFXXPruuqU%E2%80%9Drel=)   
>  [ Now I’m in It](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aEuHVfplIg8%E2%80%9Drel=)

Victor weighed the options before him. One: he could listen to Chris and ignore the feeling sparking inside him that carried the lingering hint of Yuuri’s touch. The softest, warmest touch he’d ever known. He’d box up everything inside, tape it up thrice, and find Yuuri a suitable placement away from him. Two: he’d find his own way to fix Yuuri so that the function no longer shackled his heart. 

He was fucked.

Standing between the opening of the empty harbor terminal and the spoked wire of the fence, he saw shadowed figures creeping up the drive. The last orange embers of the sinking sun had just been snuffed out, the match striking in just the right way to fade the orange sky to red, then purple. Slowly, the umbral darkness zigzagged as the figures separated from the shadows and emerged as two faces Victor longed to see.

“I’m not a babysitter,” Yuri spat, walking the remaining few feet until he stood square in front of Victor. He stuffed his hands into his sweatshirt jacket, the black camouflaged against the asphalt though the painted tiger’s sharp toothed ferocity looked as if it would chomp through his shirt and rip Victor’s throat out.

“No, you’re a companion. You accompanied Yuuri here.” The shrug and tooth-grinding sneer he received from Yuri in return was enough to grow a smile on his face. “Did you find some?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Yuri griped. “Wasn’t easy. He almost got us killed. Might as well have sent the devil to a temple, idiot.” He threw his satchel down to the floor, bending down to begin fishing through the items clanging around inside. A bright stream of light beamed out as the last of the sunlight reflected off the hard light of the skate, shooting a white stream over the concrete. What colors Yuuri would choose to program into the clear crystal blades remained to be seen, but Victor’s veins still tingled in excitement at the thought. Something new and inviting lingered at the end of the hard light. “You owe me,” Yuri said, shoving the skates into Victor’s hands, and Victor let out a relieved sigh at the fact that they weren’t activated as they poked against his abdomen.

“What do you want?” he asked. In less than forty-eight hours, Victor had learned that it was best to use a direct approach. Anything less earned a scathing reply.

It worked. Yuri leaned against the fence, letting one leg cross in front of the other, relaxed. At least, relaxed for Yuri’s standards. “I want you to teach me your jumps.” Before his eyes betrayed him, Yuri looked away, but Victor caught the edge of anger beneath, the fire fading into his emerald eye. Yuri gritted his teeth before he continued. “The older I get, the more people know what to expect. I’ve watched a lot of skating but it doesn’t work the same with humans. Except you, you hold your legs different. I think I can do it.”

Of course, a droid, with their heightened perception, would spot the differences in Victor’s skating. The way he held himself straight and strong came off masculine to the audience, but to Yuri it would seem standard. If anyone found out, they’d say Victor held an advantage. There was nothing advantageous about barely feeling a half of yourself on a jump or the countless extra hours learning and relearning jumps to synchronize the movements of man and machine. Victor never felt blessed by the gears propelling him forward. The mark was his curse.

Victor crossed his arms, letting his shoulders go lax, the portrayal of nonchalance an easy façade to slip into in these moments. It fit comfortably, well-worn as it was. “Okay. One condition.”

“What?”

“Don’t shoot Yuuri.”

“That’s not—” Yuri stopped himself, sucking in air as Victor’s eyes sharpened, resolute. Victor wasn’t watching Yuuri sink to the ground like those other droids. Viktor’s unflinching resolve seemed to sink in, and Yuri relinquished, shaking his head. “Fine! Fine. I won’t shoot him.” He held out his hand and Victor grasped it, sealing the deal.

Once through the gates and in the abandoned terminal, Victor turned his attention and found soft black hair swaying behind him in the wind. He tilted his head to the side, assessing. “Yuuri, are you ready to learn?”

“Yeah!” Yuuri’s voice sprang from the well of excitement hidden within, and Victor felt his heart begin to unravel at the seams. Yuuri’s droopy, doe-eyed countenance shifted, became sharp and piercing as Yuuri stood straight, fists clenched at his shoulders with the fight Victor loved.

“Good” He had to act quick, find something to pull back the threads of his heart and tether them to reality. Yuuri was a good dancer but he wasn’t a skater. He needed to learn, needed experience, and Victor knew one way to motivate him. He held up the skates in his hands, dangling them from the straps. “You don’t get these until I think you are ready.”

“What?” Yuuri gaped, eyes wide with horror as Victor proceeded to drop them into his own bag, letting them disappear into the interior and closing the bag with a zip.

“You have to be up to my standards in order to skate.” Victor brought his index finger to the air, emphasizing his “Standards” with the point. “For now, you can practice the basics. Yuri?”

“The rules of the madness are simple: One, don’t fall down; two, don’t actually kill anyone.”

“What about the popular vote?” Victor asked.

Yuri rolled his eyes dramatically before replying, “The popular vote is determined by who the audience cheers for most. People’s dancing comes into play here. Besides that, you’re just waiting to get torn apart.”

Victor looked between the two. Yuuri hung on each of Yuri’s words, eyes wide and searching. There was a magic that swirled in Yuuri’s eyes, and every time it flourished, Victor wanted nothing more than to repeat the results that made them sparkle like that again. “What basics does Yuuri need to learn?” Victor prompted, hoping it was the right question.

“Blocking. Defending. How to take a punch and how to give one.”

With Yuri’s words jammed thoroughly in his mind and Yuuri’s steely-eyed stare, Victor set off to explore everything Yuuri needed for Victor to curate a champion. They went through blocks, detailed presentations on formation from Yuri, who taught like a colonel shouting to his brigade. Every so often, Victor would peek at Yuuri from of the corner of his eyes, seeing him in the middle of a twist or a spin. Some he knew, but others were mysterious and enthralling, legs whipping over his head as he crawled like a crab on the cement. Yet, as Yuuri overheard the brash words characterizing less experienced players being gutted, his resolve waned. Gone were the fluid motions of a lithe dancer; instead, his movements were sluggish, and his limbs seemed replaced by wet noodles. 

Victor had seen skaters fall prey to lethargy, then fizzle out like a burnt star. Synthetic or not, Yuuri couldn’t succumb to poor habits. “Your legs are floppy; your posture is sloppy. Like a little piggy!” Victor let the jabs roll off his tongue through a smile, one eye closed in a wink as his fringe skimmed his cheekbone, putting together an altogether adorable look for the remark.

Yuuri looked offended but remained silent, clapping his hands to the side of his head as he hopped back on one leg. “Hah?”

“Little piggy can’t get his skates until he gets better!” There. Victor used the sharpened edges of his words to pierce, letting his smile open wide enough that he laughed to himself. Maybe this taunt would drag a cheeky retort from Yuuri’s lips.

“We don’t need two Yuri’s in the circuit! He should just quit,” Yuri piped up from the sidelines, shifting his bag on his shoulder.

“He’s an Eros model. You’re an Agape. It’s different.”

“Not out there, it isn’t. The only thing that matters out there is how quickly you can recover from a swipe.” Yuri turned toward the exit. “There’s a match for new players, in a couple weeks at The Madness. If he makes it there, I’ll crush him in the circuit.” Yuri snapped his head back just enough to attempt to gouge a hole in Victor’s plans with a laser-focused eye. But the green flame only fueled Victor more. Yuuri would win. Victor would make sure of it. With only silence in reply, Yuri vanished behind the door.

Though Yuri’s threatening tactics didn’t stem Victor’s determination, it left him thinking. He knew so much of skating; he was a five-time champion, for god’s sake! But the matches on the circuit were layered in such a way that skating only counted for a fraction of the points. He’d have to train Yuuri in more than just technique: Yuuri would have to fight.

“Yuuri!” Victor crooned, his voice full of pleasantness while his mind formulated a new idea.

“H-hai.” Yuuri slipped as he perked up at the words, and Victor’s heart was beyond his control as it thumped harder for a few beats.

Victor drew his finger to his mouth in thought as his eyes roamed over Yuuri. His black athletic wear hung over the muscular build Victor remembered, making Yuuri look soft. “We need to work on your combat skills,” Victor finally said.

A perplexed look crossed Yuuri’s face, his brows furrowed. “How?”

“I want you to punch me.”

“You want me to what?” Yuuri nearly screeched, his voice high, eyes bulging. He looked as if he had been punched.

“Punch me. You’re going to have to hit others in the rink. I need to know what strength your working with.” Victor took the opportunity to walk closer as he spoke.

“I don’t really think this is necessary…” Yuuri trailed off and his nostrils flared, cheeks budding with pink splotches as Victor bridged the gap between them, drawing a hitch in Yuuri’s breath.

“Punch me and I’ll give you permission to skate.”

With almost no time to prepare, Yuuri lodged an attack on Victor’s jaw, scraping the edge of his jawline with his knuckle. It stung, ridiculously so, and Victor was stunned, his face turned to the side as he tried to regain his senses. “I meant my stomach.” He gripped his chin, massaging the throbbing spot.

“Ah! I-I-I’m sorry!” Yuuri flailed, stuttering over his words. “I didn’t mean it!”

The pain in Victor’s jaw waned to a vague ache. “You were holding back. Here.” Victor dipped down, reopening his bag and retrieving skates. He pulled them out and tossed them to Yuuri. “I think you’ll be fine.”

***

The ceramic bowl clattered as Victor dug in with his chopsticks, shoveling another bite of katsudon into his mouth, the crunchy pork cutlet melting on his taste buds. “You’re going to the institute tonight?”

Yuuri glanced up from his own bowl, a sheepish grin growing at the corner of his mouth. “Phichit asked me. We basically lived together there.” Yuuri stuffed in another morsel, making his cheeks bulge like a chipmunk’s as he chewed. “I’ll be there for maintenance most of the day.”

“I’ll have to find somewhere else to stay tomorrow.” Victor hadn’t exactly thought of anywhere in particular. Someplace inconspicuous, perhaps, where Yuuri could skate without issue. As Victor studied Yuuri’s face, completely engrossed in his meal, he felt at home. The late hour meant most of the diners had already retired to their rooms for the night, leaving the two of them and a small handful of staff flitting in and out. A sigh escaped him as he noticed how warm Yuuri looked in the soft lighting. Victor’s own body heated at the sight alone. “Though I wouldn’t mind living in this hotel forever; everyone is so nice.”

“Vicchan.” The word rolled off the woman’s tongue heavily, weighed down by the woman’s accent. She’d been delighted to speak Japanese with Victor this morning as Chris was coming downstairs, and sometime in the midst of their swapping stories of Japan, she began calling him Vicchan. At some point, Victor ought to get her name as well, he thought, as he looked up into her ever-inviting face. “You could live with us.” The owner visibly bristled at her words, shaking her head before amending, “I mean, we own an apartment complex near here. We open it to the workers of the institute, interns, but we could make an exception, seeing as Yuuri is from the institute.”

“What do you say Yuuri?”

“Oh, uhm…” Yuuri looked up from his bowl, bits of rice speckled across his face as he wavered, the look in his eyes unsure.

“You could still eat here, if you like,” the woman offered.

Yuuri snapped up. For not needing to eat, Yuuri enjoyed food wholly. Both cheeks rounded with the katsudon still stuffed in his mouth, he exclaimed, “Sure!”

Victor clapped. “Amazing!”

***

“Everything looks to be in order for Yuuri. He’s going through some re-programming right now, so he’ll be better suited for individual use.” _Individual use._ Victor grimaced at Dr. Nishigori’s words as she walked into the office, reminding Victor just what he signed up for. Ownership. Victor dismissed the word though it left a foul taste in his mouth, swiping his hand in the air as he adjusted where he sat.

Though amicable, her demeanor today was a far cry from the pleasant, easygoing manner she introduced herself with Victor’s first time at the institute. Was Dr. Nishigori stiff? Her tone pricked at Victor’s skin, raising his hackles as she kept her back turned, shuffling through the papers on top of the cupboard behind her desk. “How did you find him?” She posed the question easily enough, but the tension in her shoulders showed Victor the truth: she was angry.

What did she have to be upset about? Victor pursed his lips, leaning back into the low back rounded chair he was placed in upon arriving to pick up Yuuri. “Why didn’t you tell me when I called? You told me he was fine.” This was true. Victor hadn’t left the institute tamely. How many times had he been assured Yuuri was fine? Just a normal malfunction. How many questions did he ask as Otabek led him out? He didn’t know the number of calls he’d placed to the institute, but he knew the number of times he reached Dr. Nishigori, and she always said the same thing.

“He was fine,” she replied, her words worn. She turned her head, looking at him properly for the first time since he’d arrived, and Victor saw the ragged look in her eyes. “He was safe.”

“Safe?” The notion was entirely preposterous. Victor had seen the look on Yuuri’s face, heard what the owner called him. His expression turned bitter but he was cut off before he could say any more as the door flung open.

“FIVE TIME WORLD CHAMPION VICTOR NIKIFOROV!” three voices squealed in unison, much in the same way Dr. Nishigori had on his first visit. Three little girls hurtled into the room, their matching dresses swaying as they jumped, staring at Victor like an amusement attraction.

“Are you going back to skating?” The middle one gawked up at him as she fired off her question.

“Did you see the video?” The next question came from the one closest to Victor, spoken so quickly it fell over the prior question like a linked chain.

“Are you really picking up Yuuri?” The last one leapt as she held up her phone.

“Enough!” Dr. Nishigori’s voice cut through the commotion, and the three girls settled, though they still took pictures as she rounded the desk and corralled them in her arms. She giggled and her eyes returned to the happiness he first saw her with. “Sorry. My girls really are such groupies. This is Axel, Lutz, and Loop.” She pointed to each as she spoke, from closest to farthest.

“It’s fine.” Victor held up his hand. “What video?”

“Mama takes Yuuri skating with us,” Axel explained, tapping the buttons on her device.

“Yuuri skated your program,” Lutz chimed in as Axel spun her phone around. A stilled image of Yuuri on ice skates capped the video, arm extended outward so his navy shirt stretched over his muscles like a second skin.

“Ohhh! Can you send that to me?” Victor buzzed with excitement at the thought, and within a few exchanges, the video downloaded to his phone.

Victor heard his harsh exhales before he saw the man slumped over in the doorway, hand over his heart as if he could clutch the exhaustion coming out with each breath. “Alright, I’m sure Mr. Nikiforov is very busy,” he heaved, giving Dr. Nishigori a look of apology as he shooed the girls out of the room, but not before he laid a quick kiss on Dr. Nishigori’s cheek.

The room now clear of all but silence, Victor looked over at Dr. Nishigori. Her ponytail bobbed up and down as she walked back and forth between files. “I didn’t know you took Yuuri skating.”

“Yes, I’m very fond of all our Synthetics, but especially soft for Yuuri. He really likes skating.”

“I can tell.” This was his chance. He had to at least ask. “Dr. Nishigori, can you remove his function?”

“I cannot,” she replied flatly.

“I don’t want him to serve a function, so it’s not really important now—”

She slammed the file drawer shut. “It’s important to him!” She turned around, her eyes glistening wet. “It keeps him safe. If you take him, you accept him for everything he is and everything he isn’t.”

“What would you have me be to him, then?”

“Be his father. Be his brother. Be his friend. But don’t be his lover. Yuuri doesn’t need that.” Her eyes ran wild with thoughts unspoken as she bit her lip, staring at Victor with as much intensity as her words. “Stand by his side and never leave. That’s all you have to do.”

***

The light dimly lit the entryway of the apartment. It was small, sparsely furnished, but carried the ambiance of a well-loved home. Large bay windows overlooked the still-bustling streets of Detroit’s midtown, the chatter and whoops of bar hoppers sounding from below. Victor smiled at the silver key in his hand. _Still a key, a real key, in this age?_ Victor tried to think of the last time he’d held a key in his hand. The door it led to. The voice behind it. No, never mind. Victor wasn’t to open that door, not then and there.

He closed his eyes and his mind, tapping his robotic toes against the floor, the hard wood chilly enough even that foot felt slightly cool. Behind him, fabric swished, followed by the hollow thud of suitcases dropping on the ground. Turning, he saw Yuuri on his knees amidst the suitcases and bags now hanging off Yuuri’s shoulders. Yuuri looked up, an unexpected unsureness in his eyes. “You look nervous.” Victor winked reassuringly in his direction. “You don’t need to worry about how you can make it up to me!”

“Ah, thank you?” It came out as such an adorable question that Victor couldn’t stop the smile stretching over his mouth. He was finally here with Yuuri.

And for the first time, they were alone. Actually alone.

Victor knelt in front of Yuuri, feeling the hitch in his breath as his hand went to touch the skin he’d been missing for months. “Before anything else,” he said, letting his fingers tuck the stray strands of hair behind Yuuri’s ear. He ran his finger slowly over the heart just under Yuuri’s right ear. His power button. The only thing that reminded Victor Yuuri wasn’t human. He let his finger trace down Yuuri’s shoulder over his arm, hearing the soft whines from Yuuri as Victor placed his hand gingerly over Yuuri’s. “We should build a relationship of trust above all else.” Victor was ready to figure out exactly what Yuuri needed and fulfill that role, no matter what.

Yuuri lurched backwards, crab crawling on hands and feet until he hit the wall behind him, leaving Victor dumbfounded. “Hey, what’s wrong?” Victor began to pout, the moment now stained with uncertainty as he watched Yuuri’s teeth chatter.

“N-Nothing,” Yuuri sputtered, reaching out to grab the rolling bag beside him. “I need to charge!” Yuuri scurried forward after giving his half-assed excuse, opening one of the bedroom doors down the hall and disappearing behind it with a click.

What the hell just happened? He suddenly, terribly missed Makkachin’s warmth as he shivered in the frigid room. He made his way over to the sofa, letting himself fall as he pulled his phone from his pocket. With a click, the blue light projected, showing his normal screen. As he looked, he caught the tiny image in the corner: Yuuri. The video was still up on his home screen, and with a tap, the melancholy, operatic song began.

There, reaching back at him in the darkness, was Yuuri. He didn’t hit all of Victor’s jumps, but to even do triples without the proper training struck Victor with awe. His spins were refined, delicate, and just like the first night, Yuuri held a melody inside him. He became the strings and voices, carrying the music on the wings of his skates. Every movement beckoned Victor closer, into the arms and heart of the man on the screen. He clicked off, his eyes sharpened, resilient beams of blue in the dark room.

It was not going to be easy. Nothing worth it ever was. His resolution was clear. He’d stand by Yuuri and stare straight into the hard light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience!
> 
> I hope this chapter was enjoyable!!!
> 
> I know Yuuko probably seems slightly ooc, but her actions are motivated by her character. We'll find out later why :)
> 
> Thanks for sticking with the story! I know it's not the top of the Victuuri heap, but I have a lot of love for it and I'm glad to be able to chare it.   
> A huge thank you to [faeriefirefly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/faeriefirefly/pseuds/faeriefirefly) for betaing!
> 
> If you want a sneak peek at the upcoming chapters, follow the link to the playlist!  
> Synthetic Playlist  
> [Songs of the Chapter](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLN7W9U2jU8ohf0qWJ2EmN94fXbFZOCK02)
> 
> Also, if you are over the age of 18 and want a place to yell about Yuri on Ice, please join the 18oI discord!  
> [Discord 18OI](https://discord.gg/TYMxcAB)
> 
> If you’d like to follow me for updates on Twitter or Tumblr, please click below!  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/tutsibootsi)   
> [Tumblr](https://tutsibug.tumblr.com/)


	9. Function

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Victor and Yuuri prepare for the first competition, Victor tries to mitigate the fine line between feelings and functions. 
> 
> Or
> 
> Where Victor tries hard not to flirt. He really, really tries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song of the Chapter  
> Music for the Chapter  
> [ Superfade ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OdzlT4z_YrE)  
> [ Born into Bad Times](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SgEwlF_fyU8%20rel=)
> 
> Huge thanks to Amai for reminding me that Bedouin Soundclash exists and put out a new album a decade later!

Every day, Yuuri showed a new face. Not that his mouth twisted, or his head spun like old movies of possessed people, but the Yuuri Victor had met at SHIP presumably carried just one part of his programming. The Eros that turned Victor’s world on his axis was far different from the spluttering, blushing, often quiet Yuuri who showed up every morning for practice…this time, late.

Today, the blushing was replaced by wide eyed anguish, his feet stopping at a pinpoint as he thrust through the door, looking haggard. Victor knew that was impossible, the beading drops of sweat must be a part of the Synthetic human-like appearance. Or he was overheating? Fear washed over Victor’s mind as he tapped the edge of his bottom lip with his finger, assessing, until he heard Yuuri’s voice.

“I’m sorry, Victor! Minami—” Yuuri started, giving a hearty yelp as the door once again flew open, propelling Yuuri forward. He tumbled, rolling over himself until he landed, legs on either side of Victor’s feet.

“Oh!! Is this a new position?” Victor tittered, hushing himself as Yuuri’s eyes went cross, seeing the way he straddled Victor’s feet. Quickly, Yuuri righted himself, crawling backward just enough to flip and stand up.

“Yuuri-kun! Wait up! I haven’t finished!” Minami sped through the entryway, his shoulder knocking into the door. He flinched from the pain before his eyes went wide, searching around the industrial metal walls of their practice area. “What is this?” 

From where was he leaned over, smoothing out the wrinkles in his navy athletic pants, Yuuri stopped. He threw he hands up in an ill attempt to shield the place from Minami’s eyes, saying, “It’s nothing!”

“It’s our practice place!” Victor corrected, his smile stretching the width of his face.

“Oh, are you going to be skating, again?!?” Minami twitched at the words. “I mean, Yuuko used to take Yuuri skating a lot.”

“She told me.” Victor’s words left Yuuri looking dumbstruck.

The exhilaration on Minami’s face set the room alight. He nearly bounced up and down, bobbing on the toes of his sneakers, a firecracker waiting to be lit. “We even watched World’s together!” He sprang up at the words, throwing a punch into the air. “Yuuri was rooting for you!”

Like a kiss breaking a spell, Minami’s words sliced through Yuuri with force. His eyes widened, a stricken look sweeping across his face. For a moment, Victor thought Yuuri hissed something under his breath, but Yuuri just furrowed his brows, biting his lip. Victor pushed back from the edge of want roaming inside him, the desire to press those lips to his own. The same gnawing lust burned through his brain every time Yuuri skated, danced, moved. It would be concerning if Victor wasn’t certain he could handle it. He’d won gold at three Olympics; he could handle his own body.

Instead, Victor chose to play, smirking at Yuuri’s turmoil as he jokingly admonished, “Yuuri, why didn’t you tell me you were my fan?” Maybe that was the reason for the distance. Not all fans wanted the up close and personal approach, and Synthetics might be more sensitive to those feelings. Nevertheless, Yuuri’s burning cheeks thrilled Victor as he knelt down to fumble in his bag, pulling the skynetics out and handing them to Yuuri.

“What are those?!?” Minami gasped out the question, pointing.

“He doesn’t know?” Victor cocked his head curiously.

Yuuri gritted his teeth. “No one in their right mind would tell someone who works at the institute about the competition.”

“Competition? What competition? Yuuri-kun, what’s going on?” Minami pushed up the sleeves of his lab coat as he frantically searched Yuuri’s face for information. “If something’s going on, even if it’s not…I’ll understand. I swear it! I can help!”

“Why would you want to?” A voice cut into Minami’s pleas and they all turned, catching the black hooded figure in the doorway. Blonde strands fell as he turned into the light, and before he removed the hood, Victor knew it was Yuri. 

“Yuri Plisetsky?!?” Minami balked before freezing, stalled in what appeared to be information overload. He reminded Victor of the first time he saw Yuri in the showroom, stilled to a dummy on a stand.

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Yuri approached slowly, feet dragging along the concrete until pebbled kicked up from his tread. “Why would an Institute techie do anything against the rules?”

Though Yuri caught the light at just the right angle to make him appear more menacing in the half shadow, Minami didn’t back down. He steeled himself. “I’m Yuuri’s tech, first.”

“Fine, then. Yuuri can fill you in.” Yuri’s smile taunted as he leaned closer until his nose nearly touched Minami’s. “That way you know why when your sewing bits of him back together.”

“Come on, Minami—I can tell you while you finish updating me.” Yuuri smiled, friendly enough, but the hint of steel in his eyes showed Victor another face, one that read: don’t underestimate me.

“Are you done staring?” Yuri huffed as he let his bag hit the floor. “I got some skates for you.”

Excitement coursed through Victor’s veins as he clapped, watching Yuri pull another pair of skynetics from his duffel. “Amazing!” Victor beamed, lifting them into the air. They shimmered against the light, the soul of the skate barely a metal pedal fastened by a bar. Now, if Victor could just get the clasp right…

“It’s not easy for humans to use them, you know—” Yuri started, but before he could finish, Victor wound the bracket over his artificial foot, letting the two technologies meet.

Click. Yuri whipped his head around to see Victor rolling forward, in control and perfectly balanced. Feeling the weight of Yuri’s incredulous scowl, Victor tossed him a grin and a wink as he got his bearings, watching Yuri stomp off to throw his own skates on. The light rotated over and over as Victor felt for the sensation and speed, tilting his foot forward, then backwards. The weight felt disproportionately different from the blade of his skates, more like maneuvering a small paddle boat, but the fast spin of the light, almost cutting but never piercing the concrete, was similar to the blades that etched the ice. He turned, carving small circles around the large, empty room. His robotic leg didn’t feel like a foreigner learning a new language for once; for the first time, both of his legs felt like home.

The air whipped around him and Victor felt as if he were floating, the flashes of gold from the lights the only reminder that he was on the ground. He turned again, straight into the path of Yuri, steadily creeping closer and closer, propelled by the light beneath him…until he remembered he didn’t know how to stop. He flew into Yuri, arms outstretched as Yuri flailed, falling to the ground as Victor’s only padding.

“MORON! You press forward twice and then back to stop!!!” Yuri shoved him off, and he flopped on the ground. 

Victor stared at the ceiling for a moment, laughter welling inside and spilling out. When was the last time he felt a rush like that? The unparalleled excitement of something new? He pushed to his elbows, and exclaimed, “Ah, okay! I think with some adjustments, I can teach you my jumps. But it won’t be easy.” Victor rose back to his feet, groaning at the throb in his side but smiling all the same.

“I don’t need it to be easy.” Yuri slid over until he was right in front of Victor, raising a fist. “Just give me something to win.”

“It’s up to you if you win…” Victor shrugged before he looked down, letting his height become a tower to jab at Yuri, “…but If I skated, I’d win.” 

The hours slid by in flashes of light. Adapting skating jumps to the skynetics proved taxing, but not impossible. By the time Yuuri came back around, Yuri was flying into the air, already making the rotations. It seemed Yuri kept everything in memory and could replicate from watching alone.

“Whoa! A quadruple!?” Yuuri eyes almost popped out of his head as Yuri sprang upwards. “Again?!”

“Looks amazing.” Victor knew he wasn’t talking about the jump. The way Yuuri’s body subtly curved captured his gaze. Awe fell from Yuuri’s lips, his mouth forming a perfect _O_ , and Victor’s mouth became a desert searching for an oasis.

“What looks amazing?” Victor could almost feel the hackles raised on Yuuri’s skin. _For an Eros model, Yuuri doesn’t even realize his own charm,_ Victor thought with an amused smile, storing it away as another piece to Yuuri’s puzzle.

Victor nodded to where Yuri landed, letting his leg balance him. “The jump. Without a toe pick, some things had to be reimagined, but the edges still work.”

As Yuri continued to go from one jump to the next, each time gaining precision it took Victor months to master, Yuuri watching in awestruck silence. By the time Yuri left with another snide remark about his inevitable win, Yuuri’s awe had become something else entirely. The door clicked at Yuri’s exit, and Yuuri turned, gripping Victor’s arm with a force that matched the sharpness in his eyes. “Teach me! Teach me what you can do, too!”

If it could, it would, but Victor’s smile simply could not widen any more. How surprising! The determination in Yuuri’s eyes sank deep, pulling up a bucket full of exhilaration from Victor’s forgotten well and bringing forth an excited “Of course!”

The last few days before the madness tore through the daylight hours with jumps, spins, attacks, and dodges. Yuri taught basic tactics in exchange for jumps, and Victor worked to perfect the basics to coach Yuuri. Each day, he watched Yuuri push and push, until whatever coding on the inside fell flat, and so did Yuuri, face down into the concrete.

“What are you thinking about when you skate? You tend to get hit when you something else is on your mind.”

“I don’t want to…malfunction.” Yuuri kept his eyes down on the floor, pushing his arms up. “How am I ever going to win like this?”

“Seduce them,” Victor suggested, shrugging.

“Hah?” Yuuri couldn’t contain his incredulity.

“Use your programming. Eros.”

“You think I can sex them to death?!?”

“Frankly, yes.” Yuuri fell silent, pensive. What Victor wouldn’t give to look in his memory stores and pull out what these moments meant, when Yuuri became lost in his thoughts. He could put what Minami, Dr. Nishigori, and Phichit had said about Yuuri into a jar and it still wouldn’t be halfway full of understanding. He was eroticism and beauty trapped inside nervousness, imprisoned by a function that Victor couldn’t figure out if he really enjoyed or not. He chose to stay the course, toeing in the shallow waters to see just how far Yuuri would allow him in, washed in the depths of his own ocean of feelings.

***

“Tonight, we celebrate!” Victor’s wine-flushed face embodied the mood the night before Yuuri’s competition. He tipped his glass in the air, pretending to clink it against another. Phichit giggled, his amusement shown through the lens as he snapped a few pictures, the flash reflecting back into the side of Victor’s eyes from where he sat near the window. He blinked, laughed, and took another drink.

Yuri snarled at Yuuri as he watched him heap as much rice between his chopsticks as he possibly could. “You eat like a pig for an android.”

“We can taste it!” Yuuri defended, grains of rice spewing from his overfilled mouth.

“Whatever…” Yuri scooped some of his food with a fork, unable to hide his moan as he took his first bite.

“It’s good, right?” Victor felt the heat of his blood coursing through his body, warming him against the cold draft filtering in under the window.

“One good thing Synthetic did was allow us to understand taste,” Yuri grumbled. He tipped the bowl over, letting a landslide of pork and rice fall into his mouth as he grunted between bites.

“What are you wearing for the competition?” Phichit asked, laying his head on his hand.

Yuuri’s eyes went wide, stopping mid-chew. “Oh, I hadn’t thought about it!”

“I’ve got it covered!” Victor asserted through his drink.

He did, after all, have it covered. Yuuri needed something more than just everyday wear. He needed something to entice the audience as well as enthrall the other skaters. The last of the drink run dry, Victor and Yuuri found themselves inside their apartment. Mesh and black fabric stretched over Yuuri’s torso as he sat on the kitchen table. “You sew?”

“Mhm,” Victor acknowledged, his teeth clenched around the needle. He scrunched the two pieces together, pulling the needle from his mouth to weave his needle through the fabric. “Can’t rely on someone else for a costume malfunction.” _Or anyone to get to close to my leg._

“You did everything yourself?”

“Ahh…yes.” Victor placed the final jewel on his shoulder, pausing the admire Yuuri’s bone structure, his frame smaller but no less as firm than Victor’s own. A perfect place to pepper kisses from his slender neck to the tip of his shoulder blade, feeling the heat of his skin against his lips. He stopped and coughed, bringing himself back to the present. “I did a few things in St. Petersburg. It was just me.”

“You don’t have a droid for home functions?”

“Mmm…no… Though I do like the hotel’s cooking. Their kitchen automation must be god sent.”

Yuuri cocked his head to the side, his eyes looking as if they were running numbers, searching for something his program couldn’t compute. “What do you have automated?”

“Besides for communication?” Victor looked up from where he crouched, marking the inseam of a pant leg. “Just…you.”

“Oh.” Yuuri’s soft voice fell on the word, silence resuming as Victor finished the final measurements and touches.

Without warming, he felt a finger press into the crown of his head, pushing through the fine strands of hair until it touched skin. He lifted his hand, feeling Yuuri’s hand atop his head. Such a curious thing. What could possess Yuuri to do that? “Is it that thin?”

“No! I couldn’t help it!” Yuuri stammered, his voice wavering like he was searching for a reason. “It’s so thick, it didn’t look real!!!”

“I’m hurt. I’m wounded, Yuuri.” Unleashing all of his dramatics, Victor fell to the floor, his nose cold against the hard surface.

“Please get up! I’ll…I’ll have to carry you again!”

“Really?” Victor popped himself up on his elbows, his heart shaped smile open and waiting. Instead of lifting him, Yuuri recoiled back into himself, a pained look in his eyes. Whatever was the matter, Victor wouldn’t press, simply rising to his feet until he stood nearly nose to nose with Yuuri. He stilled letting the breath between them become one but never moving further. “We both need to get to bed. I need to sleep, and you need to recharge.”

“Victor…” Yuuri breathed his name.

Now. Victor could lean in and kiss him now. Yuuri’s voice saying his name hit straight below the belt, sending him twitching. “What is it?” Victor’s voice was low, seductive, as he let his eyelids fall to half-mast and looked from under his lashes, an open invitation without words.

Yuuri squeaked, pushing past Victor as he scrambled up. “Ahh, nothing! G-goodnight!”

***

_Streamers flew ceremoniously in the sky. Blues, pinks, and golds rippled through the air and fell like stars shooting in the night. Victor couldn’t hear anything over the cheers, the never ending applause roaring from the crowd that had gathered. It was loud, overwhelmingly loud, and his ears rang, rendering the cheers to a long, high-pitched tone screaming for silence. And God, did he wish they would all vanish into the quiet. The blinding sun left Victor squinting into the morning light, trying to find the two people on the landing in front of him. He was jostled, his child self swaying back and forth on his perch, a set of shoulders. He looked down to see Dr. Darkschewitz’ spectacles falling crooked on his face, but his eyes remained fixated in front of them._

_There, several stories tall, stood the pinnacle of change to humanity. Half bold blue and half a pink wine, the giant robotic armor rose to the height of clouds in Victor’s young mind. The plating was formed and fitted like a mechanical Goliath, fully muscled in metal, skin and bone substituted with steel. A mech, his father told him the night before, and a hell of one, too, his mother added. The last mech humanity would ever need._

_“Do you have anything to add before you take off?” a faceless, no name newscaster asked, the only thing recognizable their grey suit jacket sleeve and boxy, oversized microphone. In front of the mech, his parents waved graciously to the onlookers, their helmets held at their sides._

_“For Victor!” His mother broke out her smile as she declared, nodding so her silver hair glimmered in the sunlight._

_“For Victor!” the crowd repeated, mistaking the thick Russian accent for the missing_ Y _in Victory._

_His parents fashioned their helmets onto their heads, giving one more wave before making the trek up to the head of the mech, securing themselves inside. Smoke rose from beneath its feet, great puffs rolling up over the legs as the engine ignited and the crowd counted down,”10…9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…”_

_This was everyone’s dream. The last great attack to end the war._

_This was Victor’s nightmare._

_A light flashed white, and suddenly, he was older. In his palm, a silver key lay flat, the metal cool against his heated skin. He walked down a white hallway, the doors to the side hazy in his murky mind. The only thing in focus was the last door at the very end, the one with a different doorknob than all the other doors. A plain silver knob for a plain silver key. The key slid in easily, and with a click to the side, unlocked._

_“Victor.”_

_He gasped when he heard the voice, all the air lost in the silence. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be her. There was no way. A shred of silver dangled in the thin strip of light from the hallway._

_Another flash, and darkness suddenly swallowed Victor whole. A loud smash, pain searing through his body. Not this. No, this couldn’t be happening._

_Outside himself he screamed, “Not my leg! Please, not my leg!”_

“Vi-Victor?” The voice outside was a rope around his foot, pulling him out.

Victor came up to the surface, crashing on the shore of his nightmare. He started, his body flinging him up until he sat upright, clutching a hand over his rapidly beating heart. The soft white sheets of the bed, the four poster bars, the glow of the moonlight trickling in from the window in front of him all became the reality to which he anchored himself. Gone was the abysmally black darkness, replaced by the cover of shadow in night. The wrenching pain was swapped for the alarm in his chest as he met the eyes staring at him from the doorway.

He blinked. No, more than eyes, a soft face cloaked in concern cautiously looking at him. “Yuuri? What are you doing?”

Startled, Yuuri flinched backwards, catching himself where he held the door open. “You, you were shouting…”

“Oh...” Victor shifted, patting the bed for Yuuri to sit next to him. “It was just a dream.” He smiled, trying to reassure Yuuri.

“Oh.” Yuuri turned his head as he sat on the bed, wringing his hands. “You must dream that a lot?”

“You’ve heard me shouting before?”

“Only the last few nights,” Yuuri confessed, and Victor slumped over at the words, burying his head in his hands. How long had it been since these dreams had surfaced? Years? Since his first gold at World’s at least. A squeak brought Victor out of his lamentations and he looked up, seeing Yuuri holding his hands up as he muttered, “It-it wasn’t anything! I didn’t hear any words but your l—”

One day, Victor would explain everything to Yuuri. He’d have to, but under the twinkle of stars after a nightmare wasn’t the right time. “Do you dream, Yuuri?” He spun the question out and laced it with his charming grin before Yuuri could get his last words out.

“Yes.” His eyes widened as he slapped his hands over his mouth, fear swiftly sneaking over his expression. “I m-mean, no,” he stammered between his fingers.

If Victor wasn’t ready to make his nightmares known, whatever it was that clamped Yuuri’s mouth shut, Victor didn’t need to pry into just yet. “What do you do when you charge? Do you sleep?” Suddenly, Victor realized how little he knew about what Yuuri did in his room.

“Uhm…no. Not like that. I guess it’s like dreaming, but we aren’t unconscious. It’s more like, television. A screen with pictures playing on it.”

“Television?” Victor repeated as a question, watching Yuuri nod in reply. “What do you dream of then? What do you see on your screen?”

“A castle by the sea.” Victor could almost taste the salt of warm ocean breeze at the serene smile on Yuuri’s face. The look was all too adorable, and Victor grabbed his phone, holding it up and clicking. A flash beamed white and Yuuri opened his eyes.

“Ahh!” Victor stared at the face captured in the photograph. “It’s really good! You look beautiful!” Should Victor have said that? Probably not, by Dr. Nishigori’s advice, but it couldn’t be helped. Yuuri was beautiful, and no amount of tiptoeing around could stop Victor from acknowledging that fact.

Yuuri jerked back instantly, eyes wary, looking like a threatened child. The change bewildered Victor and he pushed closer, up on his knees, as he asked, “What’s wrong? Is something the matter?”

“Umm… Victor. We haven’t…you bought me.” He swallowed thickly, Victor watching his Adam’s apple bob from the force. “And my function is to...”

Ah, that made sense. Of course, Yuuri wondered about when they would continue their tryst from months ago. But the longer he looked at Yuuri, the less it seemed like want—more like obligation. Yuuri didn’t look at him with eyes lust-blown, brimming over with desire. He looked cornered, uneasy. “Yuuri, do you want to?”

“Hah? What kind of question is that?”

“You may an Eros model, but I am not going to take anything you have to offer unless you are ready to give it. Maybe no one in the whole wide world knows your true Eros, Yuuri, and I am willing to wait for you to show me.” The quiver of Yuuri’s lips only made Victor want to pull his them to his own, to once again taste the nectar of his mouth, his tongue, but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He smoothed the bottom of Yuuri’s pout with his finger, reveling in the soft skin for one more heartbeat before pulling away. “Besides, your function is to keep me satisfied.” He cast a dashing smile in Yuuri’s direction, letting a bit of sweetness seep into his veneer as he flashed his teeth. “And you’ll satisfy me by skating.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for sticking with me while I took a week off! Your support means so much and I cannot thank you enough for reading and enjoying this story!  
> Good news is I'm nearly finished with part 1!  
> Tune in next week for Yuuri's first competition (and maybe where that bamf Yuuri comes into play!)  
> Tutti
> 
> A huge thank you to [faeriefirefly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/faeriefirefly/pseuds/faeriefirefly) for betaing!
> 
> If you want a sneak peek at the upcoming chapters, follow the link to the playlist!  
> Synthetic Playlist  
> [Songs of the Chapter](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLN7W9U2jU8ohf0qWJ2EmN94fXbFZOCK02)
> 
> Also, if you are over the age of 18 and want a place to yell about Yuri on Ice, please join the 18oI discord!  
> [Discord 18OI](https://discord.gg/TYMxcAB)
> 
> If you’d like to follow me for updates on Twitter or Tumblr, please click below!  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/tutsibootsi)  
> [Tumblr](https://tutsibug.tumblr.com/)


	10. Initiation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri enters The Initiation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the tags, slightly suspenseful and graphic times ahead. :)
> 
> Music for the Chapter  
> [ Crush on You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=124VzSLy7d0)  
> [ Clockwork](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JiF41VFwz5c%E2%80%9D%20nofollow)

Victor stared at the building in front of him, then back at the paper, then once more at the building. “This is it?” he inquired, mostly rhetorically. Peering out the window, he squinted, as if that would somehow change its shape.

“Mhm.” Yuuri nodded, anticipation escaping his mouth in the form of the edges curling up into a smile. “That’s what Phichit said when he told me he’d meet us here.” One of the many things Phichit was good for was intel. Victor inwardly thanked Phichit for his network of contacts before grimacing once again at the decomposing structure in front of him.

“It’s a hovel.” Perhaps hovel was too gentle of a phrase for the monstrosity of a building that looked like it was held together by bubblegum, paperclips, and well wishes. What few windows remained unobstructed featured shutters hanging on by a thread. Victor crinkled his nose, trying to distinguish whether the rotting green color was paint or mold, the distance making either a possibility.

“The other one was a hovel, too,” Yuuri argued.

“Not this much of a hovel.”

“Victor...” Yuuri insistently tugged on his coat sleeve. “We’ll be late for sign ups.” 

Yuuri’s fingers hooked beneath the fabric distracted Victor from all other thought. Waves of warmth washed over him at the touch, ebbing through the cold distance and coming back to the shore. The first touch Yuuri had initiated since he’d hugged him that night at the eatery left Victor aching as Yuuri released his sleeve, retracting back into the shell Victor often found him in. Not that he’d call him on it, rather the tantalizing prospect of Victor being able to crawl beneath the hard exterior and find all the secrets buried in the depths kept Victor on the edge of his seat.

And Victor carried secrets beneath his surface, too, after all. With a nod, he turned to the driver, his lips drawn into a smile while his voice was layered with petty sarcasm. “What do I owe you this time?” He let the adorable override the irritation, grabbing the satchel next to him and unclasping the brass buckles. “I came with extra shirts.”

The green cap twisted in the rearview mirror, turning until the half-metal face met with Victor’s. A grunt expelled from the driver’s chest as his eye rolled from the bag to Victor’s face. “Today, free of charge.”

“Free?” Victor jerked his head back at the word, shocked.

The man lifted his hand to shoo them out. “Keep helping Yurotchka. That is enough.”

Victor almost parroted the diminutive back to the driver before Yuuri’s hand clasped around his arm, dragging him out of the cab. His mind replayed the Russian nickname over and over as they walked through the peeling gates, trying to figure out who Yurotchka referenced. Would Yuuri know the cab driver? It certainly didn’t appear as if any friendliness passed between them as Victor toppled out of the seat, finding the cement beneath his feet steadying even as his mind was dizzy.

This time the two gatekeepers only nodded and waved, ushering them forward with the people swarming the entrance. _Am I assimilating now?_ Victor wondered, a bittersweet taste lingering on the thought. His fingers tapped on his black jeans, feeling the slightly more solid artificial leg beneath the fabric. No one could tell the difference, only he knew; Dr. Darkschewitz had assured him several times over. Yet here, perhaps they could tell which leg truly belonged to him, and which one merely pretended. Before now, Victor would find himself appalled at the thought, but as his eyes cast down toward Yuuri, noting both determination and dread swirling in the reds and browns of his eyes, Victor grinned. Maybe Yuuri could understand this part of him after all.

Air whipped past with a rush as the door thrashed with a bang, opening as if it were summoning hell’s gates forward. Victor’s eyes widened at the sight. Inside, the nearly collapsing warehouse vibrated with an electricity that beat deep into his pulse. Not the thrum of the androids, but the energy of life itself bursting from every seam, spilling into the scene with the booze and bodies. The smell of overly sweet liquor and the dry ice used to create the fog swirled around in beams of light. Once more, the inside more befitted a club or rave than the shabby exterior claimed. 

“Yuuri! There you are!” Phichit chirped merrily, his usual carefree smile hitting his eyes while he giggled. The black ballcap’s beak stuck upward as he bowed forward slightly, welcoming them.

“Phichit! Long time, no see.” Yuuri eased as he spoke, his shoulders lowering at the release of tension.

“YUURI-KUN!” The words squeaked above the ecteronic tones in the music, cutting through the deep bass thumping in the background. Yuuri jumped at the sound of his name, his shoulder twitching as his brows raised, startled by the high-pitched squeal. Poking out from behind Phichit, Minami’s supply box rattled as he leaped forward. “I need to check up all your metrics right away.”

“He’s been…really excited to see you since we left.” Phichit exchanged a half smile with Yuuri, and Victor inwardly swooned at the sight.

“Mhm.” Minami’s hair tousled forward as he nodded sharply. “I’ve been looking at your schematics, and I put together a software to boost your performance under pressure!”

“Really?” Victor’s elation couldn’t be controlled: it slipped out as his eyes widened, his skin buzzing beneath the fabric of his shirt.

“Yes.” Minami looked at Yuuri, his eyes almost pleading as he nodded to a darkened corner of the room. “Come over here with us.”

Indecision swept over Yuuri’s face, his wide eyes reflecting the internal dilemma Victor had come to know over the past two weeks as he looked from Victor to Minami, trying to decide. Letting his hands guide, Victor slinked his arm around Yuuri’s shoulders and squeezed gently, “I’ll see about finding where to sign up while you go ahead and get fixed up.”

“H-hai.” The roses blooming on Yuuri’s cheeks let Victor sink into the coziness of the moment. It was easy, imagining himself with Yuuri, his arms slung around his waist or shoulders, piecing the two into one. So easy, he didn’t realize time drifting forward until Yuuri shifted, rolling almost unwillingly from his grip. _Yuuri can’t be, it’s just his programming._ Victor reminded himself, his smile sliding away until he stood, straight faced, watching the three go into the blackness. Whatever be was, Victor himself wasn’t entirely sure. Be with him? Be interested in him? Be feeling something that teeters on the rim of a love Yuuri couldn’t feel?

“Ya here for bettin’ or drinkin’?” a voice croaked behind him. Victor turned, catching the gaze of a man leaning over the bar top. The black shine of the counter reflected the rings on both of the man’s hands as he juggled a coin between his fingers.

Victor tipped his head, giving an open smile. Finally, he’d be able to tell someone about being Yuuri’s coach. “Ah, neither. We’re here to compete. I’m his coach—”

“Coach?” the man scoffed, the shaggy ends of his straw-colored hair swaying as he shook his head. He looked up, just enough that Victor could see the snarl curling the ends of his lips. “Fancy now aren’t we?”

What did that mean? “Are there no coaches?” Victor tilted his head in curiosity as he asked, still maintaining the jovial demeanor that the media ate up, that kept most people sated enough to not draw in closer. Friendliness could be its own wall.

“In here, if they come alone or with another one of us, they’s just here to clean up the mess afterward. They call them Managers, or whatever, but it’s not the same as…coaches. If they somehows come with a human?” His nose shriveled into itself on the words. “It’s their owner.” The acid in Victor’s stomach churned at the word. _Owner._ It’s not that he didn’t know what the paperwork said, what Yuuri’s barcode read, but hearing it from someone else, especially in that sour tone, was enough to kill his appetite for several days at least.

“Marv, it’s fine. He’s just new,” a familiar voice called from behind him. “You know coaches aren’t a new thing here. You’re still living in the thirties. Quit givin’ him a hard time, you old bag of bolts!”

Marv flashed up a surly look, his upper lip drawn in disgust as he turned, waving them off. “Whatever. Waste of time, ya ask me. Owned ones never win.”

Victor pointed like a child when he saw the face of the man who matched the familiar voice. “Hey, you’re from the market! The one who helped me!”

“Name’s Odale.” Odale stuck his hand out, and Victor smiled and obliged, shaking his hand with a firm grip. “Folks usually call me Ody, though.”

“Victor.”

“Well, Victor, can I offer you a drink? I’d be interested to hear what happened after you left that day. Looked mighty shaken up, if I do say.” Ody’s vernacular sounded plucked out of all the nice American shows Victor watched over the years. The neighborly, lend a helping hand type that warmed a person, and Victor felt comforted by it.

“No. Thanks, but I really need to find the sign ups!”

“Over to your left, next to the cage.”

“Okay. Thank you!”

“Maybe next time we meet, you won’t need directions!”

At least basic sign ups worked similar to ice skating. Granted, with less paperwork. A few swipes of a finger on the large screen and a tag printed out from the bottom, his receipt. He curled the paper over his hand before placing it his pocket, then jetted past the clusters of spectators beginning to form. Swirls of fog circled around his legs, the dry ice sweeping over his black boots as he turned once more, his back flush against the wall, the metal cooling even through his jacket.

The darkness offered him shield, and he let his bag slip from his shoulder to his hand, catching it just before it hit the ground. With a quick unzip, he shuffled through the shirts and a few coats Victor had packed in case he found himself disrobed once more. _Currency is such a strange thing here,_ Victor assessed to himself, letting his amusement creep out until he was grinning at the thought of Yuuri’s face when he saw him shirtless. _I’m sure the view was fine. I could have been completely naked._ His mind was nothing if not helpful in the worst of circumstances. It did, however, give him something to smile about as he plucked the last item from the bottom of the bag, lifting the leather jacket up with arms outstretched like a medal. It felt like one, anyway, as he discarded the wool and fitted himself, completing the ensemble.

With a quick zip back up, he scanned over the area. Flashes of blue, yellow, and pink streamed through the throngs of people swarming in front of the cage, everyone a silhouette in the mostly black room. Victor’s neck popped as he lifted his head as much as possible, trying to distinguish the individuals from one another, searching for his star.

He didn’t expect the star to be glimmering so closely. Each jewel adorning Yuuri’s chest shimmered in the light. “Where’s Victor? It’s about to start?” His voice was frantic.

“Haiii.” Victor waved as he walked up, letting the sweetness of his voice present his brimming excitement as he stared at Yuuri. The black mesh exposed a hint of Yuuri’s soft skin, peeking out between the crisscrossing black fabric stretched over his torso. Every time the light swept over him, illuminating the curves of his hips, Victor stopped himself from gasping. Instead, he waited, pressing his index finger firmly to his lips as he watched, hoping the hunger in his eyes wasn’t burning and betraying his starved soul.

“You changed clothes?” Yuuri gaped, astonished and wide eyed, and if Victor wasn’t mistaken, his eyes lingered a little at the gap in the jacket where the thin black cotton of his shirt left his muscles outlined. Inwardly, Victor beamed. It didn’t hurt him to be eye candy.

“Of course! As your coach I have to look the part.” And if looking the part meant something akin to a cyborg version of a street racer from near-century-old films, Victor would comply.

“He looks better than most people here!” Phichit spoke over the snaps and clicks of his device.

Yuuri gritted his teeth before muttering something not entirely audible, but if Victor wasn’t mistaken it was, “Yes, I know Phichit.” Though he didn’t really need to hear the words; Yuuri’s reddened cheeks spoke well enough.

“This is so cool!” Minami’s eyes flicked back and forth, caught by the lights and sounds, completely missing the conversation. “I can’t believe you’re actually doing this!”

“Just promise you’ll keep it a secret,” Yuuri demanded rather than asked, his face firm.

“Promise!” Minami swung his case until his other hand caught it, letting it bounce in front of him as he bobbed up and down, the institute’s emblem shining silver as it caught a ray of light.

“What do you got there?” a deep, snide voice asked. Victor swung his head to fine the voice belonging to a thick-necked man, his heart black and apparent with his bald head. The man rose from his barstool, a head above the rest as two of similar size followed in tow.

“Smell that?” The man sniffed in the air as he approached Minami, looking disgusted. “Synthetic trash.” Perplexed and anxious, Miniami’s eyes were wide as he swiveled around, darting a look from one to the other as they crowded in.

“Maybe we can make the little thing talk, tell us all his secrets,” the one behind him jeered.

That was more than enough. “What do you want?” Victor’s glare turned dark as he looked at the group.

The first man stepped up swiftly, nearly pressing his widened snout to Victor’s, so close he could almost feel the metal behind the tan silicone skin. “You…human…bringing some Synth dog in here like it’s okay? This isn’t Synth territory!” he stepped closer, the concrete vibrating under the force of the stomp.

“I-I’m just here to check on Yuuri.” Minami threw up his hands between them, flailing as he jumped. “That’s all.”

The man turned his head so fast, Victor could hear the popping of his steel spine. He looked at Yuuri, scanning him from head to toe, his thin lips drawing into a mocking grin. “You’re gonna be in the pit?”

“Yes,” Yuuri said, and Phichit curled his hand over Yuuri’s forearm, silently throwing daggers with his eyes.

“Why would some sort of—” He paused turning his head curiously so a roll of fat bubbled on his thick neck. “What are you? You aren’t Storge…”

“He’s the best Eros model—”

The man sniggered. “Eros? You aren’t made for this. Go back to bed where you belong.”

Yuuri’s eyes narrowed before fading back to their sweet state, his smile crooked in a way Victor hadn’t seen before. Was he playing with them? “We’ll just have to see,” Yuuri said, and though his voice was even, his words were coaxing: a dare.

His nostrils flared as the man gave one more lingering stare, trying to make sense of the words paired with Yuuri’s soft demeanor. He huffed, waving his hands for the other two burly men to follow. “See you in the cage, fucktoy,” he sneered, clipping Yuuri’s shoulder with his own as he walked past.

The music broke, bringing in a moment of silence before a chime dinged. “Players to start. Twenty minutes.”

“Okay, Yuuri!” Victor needed to say something here, something motivating. He couldn’t comment on the way Yuuri’s tight pants clung to every curve Victor wanted to lick—no, that wasn’t motivating. Not in this circumstance anyway. What would give Yuuri the push to get through? “What should I say here? I’m thinking—”

But before Victor could finish speaking, Yuuri left, moving behind the cage, mixing in with the rest of the players.

Beneath the surface, Victor prickled as he crossed his arms, pouting. Yuuri faded into the swarm of larger bodies. The others around Yuuri’s slender form looked like giants, two broad men stepping up behind him, their shoulder width nearly taking up the entire walkway. _Hopefully they’re programmed for their strength and not their wit,_ Victor thought, irritated, the air chilling as he bristled, looking around. Phichit and Minami took a spot near the center of the cage, with Minami on his tiptoes at he peered over the shoulders of other onlookers. _Perhaps we should have brought him a box._ He withheld the laugh gurgling inside for fear of it bursting out hysterically, turning until he stood facing a mop of blonde hair framing a scowl Victor felt he earned daily.

“Yuri! What are you doing here?” Victor played nice, letting the lilt in his voice sing softly over the music as he reached behind him to rub his head.

“Otabek plays for all the events.” Yuri nodded, not risking offsetting his incensed look by opening his crossed arms and pointing.

Before Victor could enter into another tit-for-tat, one of the bouncers walked up to Yuri, saying, “Yuri, Nikolai’s here. Out back.”

“Oh…” Yuri trailed off as he shrank into the crowd.

Vexed by curiosity, Victor followed him through the stream of people, catching Yuri’s head bobbing until he turned down a hallway. _When are androids going to invest in lights?_ Victor let his sass play in his mind as he ventured down the dark corridor. A bit of light filtered in as Yuri flung the door open, tossing his head back. “You coming or not?”

Outside, Viktor watched Yuri approach the same smog-spewing, Soviet era car that had brought him and Yuuri there earlier. “Yurotchka!” The man’s voice boomed brightly as he landed a hand on Yuri’s shoulder.

 _Nikolai must be the cab driver then,_ Victor surmised, shaking his head to himself for not deducing sooner.

Their conversation fell quiet, but the smiles exchanged let Victor sense the sincerity of the moment. A metal spoke stuck into his shoulder as he leaned against the fence, watching Yuri pull a small sack out of his pocket, holding it out as the other man protested, waving his hands back and forth. Yuri persisted until the Nikolai reached out and pinched the bag between his fingers, his other hand ruffling Yuri’s hair.

The single stranded streetlight reflected off Nikolai’s face as he turned, his eye rolling in its metal socket as the other stared straight at Victor. “Don’t let him down,” he said, the Russian words thick but clear, an order, before lowering down into the vehicle.

All the questions stirring in Victor’s mind stilled at the look in Yuri’s eyes as he walked back up the sidewalk, stuffing his hands into his jacket. For a moment, he didn’t speak, just staring into the fence like he could melt it from look alone. Yet, something unmistakably vulnerable lurked in his green irises, childlike. A look that resonated with Victor more deeply and personally than ever before.

Yuri finally broke the silence. “After the war, we were transferred here to be discontinued. But that wouldn’t do. The general wouldn’t allow his men to die without honor. When we came back, he hid all of us. Mila, Otabek…everyone. He kept us safe.”

“So, he’s like a father to you.” Or as much of a father an android could have. Victor doubted any androids associated their manufacturers with familial status, and owners were an entirely different subject Victor didn’t care to broach.

He nodded. “But his parts aren’t manufactured anymore, and he refuses Ato upgrade.” Yuri gripped the fence, speaking through clenched jaw. “I’m gonna buy that old rust bucket a new face if it breaks everything in me.” It wore on him the way grief wears on a child, unassuming yet all consuming, something Victor knew all too well. He let the quiet stay, knowing nothing could revive the moment.

The dry ice made the air dry as well, though Victor doubted any of the androids noticed. He flicked the roof of his mouth as he waded back through the crowd, the spotlight falling in the center of the arena. “Welcome…” he heard the familiar lilt of the announcers voice rasping through the microphone, “to the Initiation!!!” The man’s mouth curled wide like a cartoon villain as he paused just enough to let the ruckus of the audience die down before he began again. “Tonight, only new players in the rink.” He winked to the side. “Fellas, release the fresh meat!”

Screams and hollers roared from the crowd, ricocheting off the walls as the gate opened. Flashes of neon, greens and reds, whirled as the hard light swished around, lifting each player as they spun. Victor sought only one pair, though, a deep rouge light that completed Yuuri’s design shining in the center of the arena. Between the threads of skaters weaving in and around the others, waving their arms and shouting, Yuuri skated. He swerved to the left, then the right, circling his hips and winding his arms over his torso, but he kept his eyes on the ground. It looked like his nerves had taken hold.

Nervous wasn’t good. Nervous led to Yuuri thinking, and Yuuri always fell when he let his thoughts consume him. In there, he could fall. He could just lose…or it could be much worse.

“Thirty in the cage. The final five will advance to the big event!” The ringleader twirled his arm in the air, pointing to the sky as he paused to emphasize the moment. “Now that you’ve had a taste, let’s let these new faces off to see their teams so the betting can begin!”

The same screens flashed on around the rink, but Victor’s eyes searched for swept-back black hair and a mesh-covered body. He caught the changing flashes of pressed buttons, people choosing their winning racehorse from the corner of his eye. Through the generic, uninteresting contestants rolling back and forth, crossing and zigzagging as they found their footing, white light refracted, shining bright in Victor’s direction. There, like a royal stepping down a staircase, Yuuri sparkled, the lights spinning on the sides of his feet as he glided forward.

Yuuri arrived at the side of the cage, eyes low and not focusing on Victor. “Yuuri, “Victor started, enticing him with the wine of his words. “Turn around.”

“Hah?” Yuuri squeaked, his befuddlement apparent as he raised his eyebrows.

“Just do it,” Victor ordered, bristling, but he needed to bring Yuuri back from wherever he’d wandered off to inside himself since they arrived.

As Yuuri turned, Victor’s fingers gripped through the metal and into Yuuri’s waist, pulling him back until he was pressed against Victor through the cage. Yuuri started, and Victor pressed his face against the bars to whisper low against his neck, “Seduce them. Just like at the eatery. Just like your function.”

“Right, Katsudon. Be Katsudon.”

“What?” Being in such close proximity did little to help his resolve, and Victor insistently ignored the throb below his belt as he focused back on Yuuri. For a moment, Victor couldn’t be sure if he was referring to his name at the eatery, or from the hungry look in the corner of his eye, the dish itself. He huffed a laugh, smiling against the crook of Yuuri’s neck. Whatever worked. “Right. Katsudon. Let’s go with that. You know who you’re seducing, right?”

Yuuri’s breath hitched but he stood straighter, resolved. “Yes.” Victor’s fringe blew back from his face as Yuuri spun around fast, his brown eyes dancing devilishly as he looked into Victor’s. The tip of his nose touched Victor’s, holding for a minute while Victor reined in the insistent urge to kiss Yuuri there, and then he was off. What was that wild look in Yuuri’s eyes? Something delicate but feral, commanding softly but insistently for Victor to look.

Then Yuuri said it, those same words from the eatery: “Don’t look away. Eyes on me. Only me.”

An alarm blared overhead, and Yuuri flew with all of the skaters back to the center of the arena. Packed so tightly, Victor couldn’t find Yuuri amongst the sea of skaters. His eyes roved over indiscernible heads and bodies, inconsequential to the only figure he wished to see.

“Don’t you want to watch closer?” he heard Phichit ask, though Victor couldn’t be bothered to turn to look.

“I’m fine back here.” Yuri’s even tone let Victor know that even if Phichit tried to persuade him, his words would fall on deaf ears. Yuri wanted to watch like a hawk, far enough away to assess everything, plan his attacks. He must have been an excellent soldier.

Thumping beats began, the electronic pitch gyrating through the entire place with vigor. The first few seconds resembled more of a bar brawl than any skating Victor had ever seen. He cupped his hand around his chin, taking in the action. The larger, more structurally formidable opponents had swiped and elbowed a few scrawny ones to the ground. The tiny ones flew up in the air like slivers of a log being pushed through a woodchipper. One thick-necked one skidded on the edge, picking off one of the smaller androids who was trying to rebalance. His wide hands lifted the other droid above his head, his arms holding the neck and ankles like a pig roasting above the fire. The crowd roared with enthusiasm, rattling the metal fencing of the cage while shouts spurred him on. In one fell swoop, he threw the other skater down, the body bobbing twice before finally landing.

The metal wiring jangled as the man took his rudimentary victory lap, running his fingers along the fence, cocksure, and winked in Victor’s direction before turning back into the crowd of skaters. The same thin-lipped sneer from earlier painted the droid’s face, and Victor saw white. Adrenaline surged through Victor, anger tugging at his gut. He had to find Yuuri, now. His eyes searched through the fallen, checking each one off. Yuuri wasn’t among them, no soft black hair or glistening gems. A glimmer of light in the middle of the ring caught his attention. There, Yuuri spun in the center, one leg stretched out while the other twirled him so fast he appeared like a shimmering black whirl, untouchable.

“Only half the players remain!!!” the announcer belted out, his voice gasping at the end of the last word, raising Victor’s hackles. He kept Yuuri in view, watching the elegant line of his leg as he kept spinning. Enamored as well, another player halted for a second, watching the display. Three others toppled over her, burying her beneath their weight until only a flash of green light was exposed. It worked! Yuuri was the tastiest katsudon he’d ever seen.

The music ramped up into the chorus, the high female voice singing over and over, “I’ve got a crush on you.” Yuuri glided forward, avoiding a player’s grasp as he kicked up, his skate slicing their chin. The hard light pushed the girl’s head up and she fell to the floor, splattering bolts around them like blood at a crime scene. Yuuri twirled his hips, cocking his head in Victor’s direction. He was seducing someone, but Victor couldn’t figure out who.

“The final ten on the floor!” the announcer called as three players entangled themselves, toppling to the ground. As they fell, a gangly man jumped to clear them, his legs tucked up so he almost looked like a bird taking flight. Wisps of dirty blonde hair flew up and Victor recognized Emil as he crashed down on his skynetics, his bright orange lights blurring.

 _Oh, Wow! He can jump!_ Victor thought as he watched Yuuri evade another grab by lowering into a spin, twirling while syncing each foot to the beat. Even in the heat of a fight, Yuuri embodied the music, lifting up just in time to skip over another skater. He raised his arms up and around, inviting the next player to join, his finger crooking. The other player took the bait, rushing in, his shadow towering over Yuuri as his arms sought to grab him. Just as a long arm swooped in, Yuuri leaped just enough out of the way to throw the man off balance, blowing a cheeky kiss as the skater’s large head cracked against the concrete.

Another sound change blared, the rhythm charged up, but Yuuri kept in check, letting his hands flare up and around, diverting the others in the rink by a breath before he spiraled down, then back up again. Without warning, three imposing skaters flew past each other, weaving complex patterns with the lights of their Skynetics. Green, silver, and yellow patterns flashed in an instant before the trio rocketed toward Yuuri in a straight line. They were a wave, their shoulders closing the gaps between them and forming a wall of false flesh that blocked Yuuri entirely from Victor's sight, not allowing even a single black strand of hair to peek through their barricade.

Victor’s heartbeat quickened; face burning as he held his breath. His eyes must be deceiving him. “What’s going on?” Victor snapped out, unable to control his panic.

No one knew, but Minami pressed his face up to the bars. “Looks like they’re trying to hug him.”

“That’s not a hug.” Yuri’s voice was cloaked in experience. “They’re trying to shut him off.”

No. This couldn’t be happening. Not again. The cage clattered as one of the brutes lifted Yuuri, throwing him up against the metal. The back of his head smacked against the cage Victor’s breath caught in his throat as he watched him struggle, arms pushing out only to be grabbed and held to the wire mesh. The one in the center, the one who’d sneered at him and called Yuuri a fucktoy, seized Yuuri’s throat, his hand an iron clap around Yuuri’s neck as he pushed harder, fingers seeking the black heart.

Somehow unsatisfied by choking, the man wound his arm, eliciting a roar from the crowd. Victor felt the fist land on Yuuri’s face as if it was his own. One. Two. Three times. Yuuri’s head whipped back and forth, gelled back hair springing up from where it skimmed along the fence.

It wasn’t a fight—this was a crucifixion, Yuuri’s arms splayed wide to make an example. Victor had to act, fast. His feet carried him to the gates as his hands felt for his own skates, fingers fumbling to unclasp the latches. He was going in there, getting Yuuri, even if it broke all the rules. The rules could be damned. A weight fell upon him, arms clambering at his neck. He looked back to see Yuri clinging to his back, trying to force him down.

Victor wiggled back and forth, Yuri’s body swaying with the motion, and barked, “Will you get off of me?”

“Will you be gentle? My arm’s newly repaired, idiot! YOU CAN’T GO IN THERE!” Yuri strained to scream as he yanked Victor back, making him stumble, but he kept his footing.

“Why not?”

“They’ll kill you! Really kill you.” Victor had never felt the slap of his mortality sting so painfully as the truth behind Yuri’s words sank in. He stopped abruptly, so much so that Yuri toppled off his back. Yuuri could be turned back on. Victor couldn’t.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU!!! WHY WON’T YOU BREAK!!!” the man pinning Yuuri to the cage screamed, so loud his voice boomed over the song. Victor’s eyes flashed over to Yuuri, only to find Yuuri’s dark and sharp, seething with the fiery red of his brimming determination. The embers fanned to a flame, and with a burst of movement, Yuuri lunged forward. He broke free from the grasp and pushed out, the sheer force propelling all three of the others backward. The concrete cracked beneath them as they slammed to the ground, skidding like skipped stones until they settled in the center.

“Wow.” Victor clapped his hand over his mouth. The entire room hushed in awe as Yuuri rose back to his full height from his hunched state. Emil and the other remaining four froze, descending into a cloud of confusion as they looked from Yuuri to the three barbarian-sized droids flat on the ground.

The announcer clapped against the microphone, breaking the stunned silence that had fallen over the room. “Th-there you have it, ladies and gentle-droids…your five initiates! Let’s give them a round of applause!” The audience started a slow roll of applause, reaching higher decibles as the announcer beckoned them forward, his baggy attire ruffling as he waved his hand. “Come on, come on! Don’t be shy! Let’s introduce yourselves!” Meekly, Yuuri glided over, the stray strands of hair sweeping behind him in the momentum. As he stopped, the announcer looked him up and down.= “You…you must have a lot of stamina!”

Yuuri gripped the back of his neck as he spoke. “I have that at least.”

The crowd laughed, Victor included. He didn’t know who’d underestimated Yuuri more: the three goons or Yuuri himself.

“Tell me, Yuuri, any words after that? What were you thinking?”

“Umm…” His eyes searched, glittering as they looked until they met Victors. He closed his eyes and smiled. “For Victor.”

The words, his nightmare, became soft, echoing chimes in a summer morning’s wind.

_Oh._

Victor was falling, deep.

Eros Yuuri from this Chapter:  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, sorry, sorry for the delay! I hope you all are doing well and that this Chapter was worth the wait. 
> 
> Thank you so much!!!
> 
> A huge thank you to [faeriefirefly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/faeriefirefly/pseuds/faeriefirefly) for betaing!
> 
> If you want a sneak peek at the upcoming chapters, follow the link to the playlist!  
> Synthetic Playlist  
> [Songs of the Chapter](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLN7W9U2jU8ohf0qWJ2EmN94fXbFZOCK02)
> 
> Also, if you are over the age of 18 and want a place to yell about Yuri on Ice, please join the 18oI discord!  
> [Discord 18OI](https://discord.gg/TYMxcAB)
> 
> If you’d like to follow me for updates on Twitter or Tumblr, please click below!  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/tutsibootsi)  
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	11. Weight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music for the Chapter  
> [ Coin Operated Boy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7bBwV3cmop0)  
> [Don’t Take the Money ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PdRjwHQet_A%E2%80%9D%20nofollow)

“I’m so glad you made it out, Yuuri!” The passive-aggressiveness underlying his words wove as a singular thread through Viktor’s overwhelming joy. He squeezed Yuuri tightly, arms wrapping over Yuuri’s shoulders to draw him near.

He was happy, inordinately so. Pride welled in his chest, so much that the fickle string of Victor’s heart strummed the tune of Yuuri’s dance over and over. He could hardly keep his smile contained as he nuzzled Yuuri’s cheek. The soft warmth pressed into the corner of his mouth as he continued his happy ministrations, even as the apprehension of watching Yuuri almost get pummeled to the ground lingered. “Thank you for showing me that you can still win even with almost getting shut off. Don’t do that again, okay? You can win without getting hurt next time!”

The sweetness of Victor’s voice coated the bitterness well enough to distract himself from other words. Words closer to his heart, that threatened to unravel from the ties binding on his tongue. Victor couldn’t say those words. Yuuri couldn’t feel them anyway. Fortunately, the screeching shouts firing out from behind them were enough to draw his attention. He let his limbs cocooning Yuuri drop, turning as he let his hand settle into the deep curve of Yuuri’s back instead. His fingers stretched into the dip, resting there, savoring the way his fingerprints pressed through the mesh into skin. “You looked beautiful.” He let the compliment fall with sincerity and Yuuri twitched, gawking at him in a way that had Victor eyeing his own shoulders, wondering if he had grown another head. There was no time to inquire before the bubble of Minami’s expression burst, and he swept his hand away reluctantly.

“OH MY GOD, YUURI! YOU WERE SO COOL! SO COOL!” Minami threw the back of his hand dramatically on his brow, covering the red-tinted strands of his fringe to bask in the moment. “You completely had them with your spins!” He stood straight as a board, shivering as his eyes went sharp, the caramel color burning a deeper brown than Victor had ever seen as Minami pointed at the tip of Yuuri’s nose. “Why didn’t you tell me you could use that much force! I could’ve tweaked your programs.”

Yuuri balked before settling into a pensive silence, his eyes shimmering with flecks of gold as he recalled the events. “I was really focused in the middle. I sort of lost myself at the end. I don’t really remember what was happening. I just started having fun.” Not able to escape the amount of awe resting on the word “fun,” Victor’s eyes widened. There was a calm in Yuuri’s words, much more than the last weeks had carried. Victor had seen sparks of anxiety, drive, perseverance, but nothing in Yuuri that had registered as fun. Maybe it had been. When did Victor last associate skating with fun? Now—Victor was having fun now.

The tapping sound of Phichit’s finger on the thin screen filled the now music-less area in the afterglow. “You nearly won the popular vote!” 

“Me?” Yuuri’s jewels sparkled in the light as he flinched. “Popular vote?”

“Mhm. Look right here.” Phchit’s finger hovered over the words **Katsuki Yuuri** in bold, just under someone Victor didn’t recognize.

“Wow!” Victor’s breath heated his fingers as he covered his mouth in exclamation. His eyes wandered from the top of the screen, where Yuuri’s face was digitally framed, down to the glowing charts beneath the screen. Lit like a monitor, the neon yellow contrasted with the regular screen bizarrely. Victor pointed beneath. “What’s that?” he wondered aloud. 

“Phichit’s levels.” Minami pointed at the display, the digital barometer going up and down. A strange, almost eerie feeling settled over Victor’s skin as his eyes traveled from one line to the next. Beneath each bar was a bolded and underlined word: Oxytocin, Serotonin, Vasopressin, Norepinephrine, Dopamine…everything needed for love, true love, beyond the components of lust Victor remembered from the articles he’d scoured late at night on his couch. Each label’s bar barely filled the bottom, raising a hair higher before dropping completely. “It shows exactly what Phichit needs to make sure he stays within his function!” Minami nodded sternly at Phichit, his face determined.

“Mhm. Everything’s in order,” Phichit said evenly, cocking his head as he smiled, though it didn’t match the way his eyes drooped for a moment, a glint of sullenness tugging at the corners. He snapped the screen shut and buried it in his pants pockets. Was it loneliness Victor had just seen? Or something bittersweet? Victor couldn’t gauge the emotion in the split second before Phichit’s usual carefree demeanor returned, a smile that could light the day wide across his face. “Let’s get a picture!”

With a flash, Phichit captured the four of them as Victor swung his arm over Yuuri, his mouth bowing into a heart shape as the light flashed. He looked at the photo, everyone stilled for the moment, Phichit’s face a perfect pin-up of sweet and enticing, his gloved fingers held with his index and middle stretched, a peace sign. Victor thought Phichit could chronicle his entire lifetime and never capture everything about himself.

A drop of water landed on Victor’s nose, sluicing off the side of his cheek like a stray tear. His lashes fluttered, the silver catching the light as he looked up into the night sky through the cut- out roof. The dilapidated warehouse began to emerge as the smoke wafted away, the arena reappearing as the hovel Victor attributed it to upon arrival, the stroke of midnight revealing the pumpkin yet again. He barely noticed the clapping as it came nearer and nearer, the hollow smack to his shoulder as heavy and inconspicuous as a bomb falling from the sky.

“Well, done!” a gentlemanly voice praised, and Victor turned to see Ody standing with an appreciative grin on his face. “Kid’s got spunk, I’d say that.” He nodded over to Yuuri, eyes transfixed on him as his brows knitted together. He stepped slowly, inching closer until they would be breathing the same air if Yuuri drew breath. “I’ll be damned.” Ody looked up and down Yuuri’s frame, scrutinizing him the way Dr. Darkschewitz always examined Victor, not missing a thing. He stepped back, let his eyes go down, and whistled, the high note pitching down. “All those hits and not a single scratch on you. What’re you made out of?”

“Ahh…uhmmm…”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Victor tilted his head, playing coy long enough to let his hair droop to his shoulders.

“Ah! I don’t mean nothing by it, honest!” Ody lifted both hands in surrender. “It’s just those other guys, they had rings on their knuckles. Shoulda drug the silicone clean off the metal. Now, I think that’s foul play, but they pretty much let anything slide, being able to rebuild and all. Just had me curious, that’s all. Never know what new thing SHIP will come out with.”

“Yuuri’s not special!” Minami’s shout was followed by a shake of his head as if he’d just heard his own words. “I mean, he has the same programming as everyone else. I should know!”

“Alright, little fella.” Ody stuffed his hands back into his jeans’ pockets, his fingers looking like they were molded into the tight fabric. He leaned his shoulders back, settling into his heels. “Good luck to you, Yuuri. Looking forward to the upcoming matches now, Victor. Real interesting, that’s for sure.” He tipped his head, sauntering off in the direction of the bar.

Tucking the skynetics back in the duffel with a zip, Victor managed to explain how Ody had helped him in finding Yuuri. The rot of the warehouse became more apparent as it cleared out and Victor’s stomach churned. He held his breath as they journeyed toward the exit, noting the hints of fresh air drifting in and out through the remnants of the crowd shuffling in the same direction.

The flux of people congested the area, and Victor stepped cautiously, his eyes settling on the top of Yuuri’s styled-back hair as black strands bobbed, working free to their normal wispy flow. The blue light of Phichit’s phone popped up in front of Yuuri, leaving him with a glowing porcelain complexion, near-perfect in design. He was gorgeous, an undeniable beauty even against the harsh light. Victor held back his want, roping it to the dock of his inner thoughts. He’d seen Phichit’s levels; what would Yuuri’s look like? Would they be flat, nonexistent? What, precisely, lead Yuuri to malfunction that first night? Was everything just programming? Everything that made Yuuri look up at Victor in that way that made his soul hurt from wanting? What exactly was Yuuri thinking?

“Watch it asshole!” Yuri’s growl was enough to pull Victor from his thoughts, and he snapped up to see Yuri’s arm raised as a taller person jumped back. Mousey blonde hair swooped as Emil stepped away, eyes dipped in confusion yet still maintaining the laid-back look Victor remembered from the first time he saw him at The Madness.

“Ah, sorry, Yuri!” Emil apologized, running his fingers through his hair to smooth the ends as he chuckled sheepishly.

Yuri’s rumbling snarl reverberated deep and low in his chest as he raised his fist, which Otabek’s hand clamped firmly over from behind, the buckles on his leather jacket gleaming silver in the light as he lowered Yuri’s hand. Yuri glared at Otabek but only received a smirk in response before pulling his hand down completely. He looked beyond Emil, casting new daggers at Mickey. “I thought you weren’t going to run him?”

“I didn’t really have a choice after you blew up the last one!”

“Just make sure he stays out of my way! Fucking spoiled humans…” he trailed off, still muttering as Otabek continued coaxing him out the door.

Victor let out a sigh as he felt the chill of the night air sweep against his cheek. He watched from the sidelines while Yuuri waved goodbye to Minami and Phichit. They sank into the cab in front of them, the red brake lights washing Yuuri’s face with crimson as it pulled away and turned off the street.

“Yuuri.” Victor kept his voice low, tugging on his most sultry muse as he crept forward. He stood behind Yuuri, dipping his head just low enough to softly speak against his ear softly, “How do you want to celebrate?” _I could pin you against the wall and take you right here_ , he thought. He couldn’t help it, really. With all the adrenaline still pulsing through his veins, he wondered how any of the blood coursing through his body wasn’t rushing straight to his dick. He stared down at the plump curve of Yuuri’s ass in his body-hugging pants. Victor really outdid himself when he chose to recreate his skating costume.

His bangs swept into the air as Yuuri turned, his cheeks still the color of the brake lights, determination written across his face. He gripped Victor’s shoulders, staring straight into his eyes as he demanded, “I want katsudon!”

***

Victor could have pouted internally during the ride from the warehouse to the apartment, the promise of katsudon on the menu the next day enough to sate Yuuri into a contented lull. He didn’t, though, too busy mulling over the possibilities with only the subtle whir of the car to cut the silence. Yuuri kept his eyes on the buildings whizzing by this time, and Victor watched at the look of wonder on Yuuri’s face. It only spurred the questions inside his mind, the curiosity resting beneath his temperate attitude. What did Yuuri want?

By the time the cab pulled to a halt and Victor bartered two of his shirts for the ride, he was no closer to an answer than he had been when he first found Yuuri. Maybe further, if Victor thought too hard about it.

“What a night, right?” The quiet of the apartment as Victor opened the door still shocked him. He missed the pattering of Makkachin’s feet, unable to control her excitement when he arrived home—if she wasn’t barreling in after him, of course. Soon, he assured himself, soon they’d settle into things and he’d call for Makkachin. _Explaining all of this to Yakov’s going to be a nightmare…_ Victor thought absentmindedly, taking a step too hard and making the floorboards cry beneath his weight. He adjusted quickly, letting the duffel bad slide from his arm on the floor as if that had been the cause instead of not forgetting to distribute his weight correctly. He should know better by now, to be more careful. Underestimating the weight of metal could cost him dearly.

To his relief, Yuuri hadn’t noticed the redistribution, his eyes settled on Victor’s belt buckle. At least, Victor could have sworn the line of his eyes went in a straight line to the tailored fit just beneath. Was something wrong? Victor glanced down swiftly before straightening up, sticking his leg out for show as he let his body become a posed statue. “Did you want to take a picture?”

“Hah?” 

“I could upload it!”

“Ah…I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Right…” Victor looked at the sequins on Yuuri’s costume, the scattered bits of hair poking out through the gel. His deep, dark, darling eyes that spoke so little and too much all at once. “You should get out of those clothes.” _I should get you out of those clothes._ Really, by now, his thoughts were beginning to agitate him with the amount of times they betrayed his face, leaving him at the cusp of being insincere. He wasn’t. Everything he said he meant. He was just showing Yuuri everything he could have if he wanted it. He was just falling like a hopeless child running into a fire after a lost toy. He was attached at every angle to Yuuri. But admitting it out loud would sound hollow. “Did you want to take a bath?”

“You know we can get wet right?” Yuuri muttered angrily under his breath until Victor’s words appeared to truly catch up with him. His eyes shot up, bewildered as he tilted his head to the side. “Wait? What did you say?”

“Huh? I asked if you wanted a bath…” Victor trailed off.

“Nothing…just, most people don’t think we need to clean…”

“Of course you do.” Victor knew their pseudo-flesh was impervious to many things, but grime still clung to it. Had Yuuri not realized Victor heard the shower turn off and on? He held more first-hand knowledge, but that was for another time.

“You don’t think we’re…” Yuuri’s foot turned back and forth nervously as he let his thought trail off.

“The only thing self-cleaning is the oven.” Victor grinned.

“Yeah…” Yuuri spoke to the floor. “At least it works right…” All of the boldness of earlier had dwindled and Viktor watched the last bit of flame snuff out as Yuuri folded into himself. Victor stepped closer, only to see the soft line of Yuuri’s lips go straight and rigid. He bowed, “Sorry…err—thank you. I should change.”

Yuuri’s heels vanished behind the bathroom door and Victor slumped against the wall, his shoulders hitting with a thud as he listened to the squeaky faucet turning, water flowing against the porcelain. “Am I imagining things?” he asked the ceiling as if it could reply. The still-fresh white paint greyed from a passing shadow, a car’s wheels gliding over the rain-stricken pavement, sadly not an apparition with an explanation as to what Yuuri meant each time Victor caught his stares. All the short, quick breaths when Victor drew near. Every indication that Yuuri wanted something more. That maybe, just maybe, he wanted him, like the first night they met.

Then again, Victor used human logic and not android programming. His heavy sigh reverberated against his chest, his lungs feeling as exhausted as he was. Pushing off the wall, he quickly stowed his jacket in the closet and gently padded down the hall, keenly avoiding making enough noise to alert Yuuri to his proximity to the bathroom door. He rested his hand, leaning his ear against the door to hear the water splashing against the ground. In there, water would be cascading down Yuuri’s slender neck, beading as it sluiced down the curve of his back and dripping off of the roundness of his cheeks.

_How many times is too many times to think about one ass?_ Victor thought as he pried his ear from the door, wandering into his own bedroom. If he let his mind talk back, he’d be sure to answer that there were never enough times to think of an ass as perfect as Yuuri Katsuki’s. He flicked on the light switch, taking the few steps to his bed before flinging his shirt on his dresser, his pants and belt joining neatly on top. The cool metal of the frame hit his shins as he plopped onto the bed, once again staring as the ceiling as if it had stars to guide him.

Two years of unintentional celibacy had not been as hard as two weeks in near proximity with Yuuri. Victor hadn’t been this hard either. Listening to the patter of water through the wall, he let his fingers slip beneath the band of his briefs. He palmed himself enough to draw a ragged breath from his lips, eyes closing until all he could see was Yuuri. His body, slighter in frame but just as strong as Victor bobbing up and down on top of him until he was enveloped in heat, Yuuri’s slightly rounded hips pulling up just enough to then come crashing down.

Victor drew in another shallow breath, curling his fingers to stroke harder and faster as his mind carried on. Yuuri’s tousled hair thrown back with his head as he swiveled his hips, chasing the pleasure of being mounted on Victor’s cock. Each sculpted muscle of Yuuri’s abdomen shrinking and expanding as he pulled forward and back again, until Victor would reach his fingers beneath the soft flesh of his thighs and pull him up just enough for Victor to thrust into that perfectly formed hole, until the only sounds were the smacking of flesh and the strangled screams of an orgasm coiled, ready to spring. Victor tugged feverishly at the head of his cock, the swollen pink tip aching to the touch. He knew what Yuuri felt like, but he wanted more. More than the soft moans and performance-driven programming that no doubt took Victor for everything he was worth and still left him indebted to how sweet Yuuri tasted. He wanted the moments after the tears pricked Yuuri’s eyes, to bask in the afterglow of coming undone with each other over and over again. To kiss Yuuri’s forehead and know he could be close to him from the black of night until the break of dawn. Victor didn’t just want Yuuri’s body, he wanted Yuuri’s soul.

He had to have one. Something, somewhere in the programming was a spark, a soul, parallel to a human’s. He could sense Yuuri’s fear, his strength, his determination; somewhere in the levels, even without the Synthetic, had to be love.

The ache in Victor’s soul mirrored the ache in his cock as the levy broke, spilling the orgasm out in warm strips of white bubbling over his hand as he came, jolts of electricity shooting through his veins. He kicked out at the last of his release, falling boneless on the sheets as the visions of Yuuri dissipated and he opened his eyes. Yuuri couldn’t figure out what Victor wanted the first night, what got Victor off. It was so simple, yet no one ever seemed to figure it out: Victor got off on love.

***

Tension wore on Victor as they settled into monotony over the next few weeks. Practice, hotel, then home. The last few vestiges of spring’s chilly nights wrung out their icy mornings as May began to heat up by the noon sun. At least, something was heating up. Every time he’d get close to the edge, Yuuri would pull back six feet further. This wasn’t working. 

If it were only affecting Victor, he could deal, but Yuuri waffled from strong practices in which every leap, swing, dive, and duck was perfectly executed, to finding himself face down on the concrete the next day. Whatever malfunction threatened to overtake him plagued him enough to riddle him with indecisiveness.

The avenues Victor took in attempt to pull him from the clutches of whatever caused Yuuri to waver all led to dead ends. As Victor stood in the middle of the room, a draft creeping under his sweats and pimpling gooseflesh up his leg, he sighed, perplexed. Yuuri didn’t show up to practice. Yuuri had already stopped showing up to dinner. Something sank deep in Victor’s gut and resurfaced, red and irritated. He needed to act before Yuuri carried this into the next competition.

Leaving the terminal, Victor thought back to past lovers. The shooting stars that glimmered for a moment but lost their luster before carrying into anything real. He could call some of them love, certainly, he thought, as his loafer kicked up pebbles beneath the concrete, clicking as they fell a few feet forward. Each of his relationships before was a pebble in water, a small ripple in his full life. They fueled his learning, inspired parts of his routines, but lacked the tenacity to stay. Or worse, those that tried to change him, sneak in subtly and remold him to the image they held in their heads. Victor grew tired of the constant drain of those people, his drive to create new things alone greater than his want for companionship. Perhaps he’d rushed things as well or didn’t pay attention as much as they’d asked. He never thought to ask what went wrong in the aftermath. Yuuri didn’t ask anything from Victor—he just stayed by him.

A buzz vibrated against his leg, sending shivers up his spine at the unexpected motion. He pulled the phone from his pants pocket. Seeing the name on the screen, he went against his better judgement and hit the green light. A screen popped up, the white walls as stiff through the video as if he were there in the office. It being the only thing he could do, he huffed and gave a week smile, saying, “Dr. Darkschewitz, hello!” in Russian. Despite all the reasons he didn’t want to speak to the doctor, being able to slip comfortably into his native language warmed him like finding a memento from home.

The doctor’s glasses reflected against his always-too-harsh lighting, concealing his eyes in a flash of white, but the way his brows knitted together indicated his feelings before he grumbled his disappointed, “Vitya, you haven’t kept any of our appointments.”

A statement. Not an inquiry but a scolding. Keeping his face soft, he let himself laugh casually at the statement. “I’ve just been busy,” he assured.

“‘Busy,’ right…fifteen years, almost, and you’ve never missed an appointment, even a conferenced one. Your last email said you'd call..." the doctor said, dejectedly. 

_I wouldn’t need to have fifteen years worth of appointments if it wasn’t for you._ Vict grit his teeth at the thought, changing back to a smile, “I’m not in Russia anymore…” Keeping it pleasant always made thing quicker, safer. Victor had a thousand things on his mind and none of them were the doctor of this ridiculous appointment. 

“I know very well where you are, Vitya. And the company you are keeping.” His voice was stiff, too stiff, but before Victor could bolt out a retort, Dr. Darkschewitz threw up his hands. “But that’s not why I called. You are your parents’ child; I trust you to do what’s right.”

“Okay, then.” He let the surge of his irritation settle under a white flag. “Why did you call?”

“First, how is your leg?”

Victor’s eyes darted suspiciously back and forth, scanning for anyone who might have overheard. With nothing but empty streets staring back at him, he replied, “It’s fine. Nothing abnormal.”

“Walking, running, jogging? Everything in order?”

“Yes, skating too.” He almost winced as the words came out too fast.

“You’ve been skating?” The doctor clapped his hands together. “Brilliant!”

“Yes, something like that,” He agreed, jostling the flat screen into his other hand. “Why else did you call me?”

“I was just…curious, about what you thought of the institution? The one in Detroit is the largest Synthetic manufacturer. I have an academic curiosity about it.”

“Why the curiosity?”

“I’ve been looking into sponsoring the Synthetic initiative more. I know, I know, I wasn’t too keen on the idea at our last meeting. But you said some things that rattled this old skull of mine.”

“Really?” Dr. Darkshewitz could have told him he was moving to the moon and it would sound less incredible than him crediting something Victor had said with changing his opinion. He thought back to the institution, the maze of sterile walls and clinical order. “Everything seemed standard from my time there. They had human service personnel, but that was really the only remarkable thing.” He shrugged. “I don’t really remember.” The sound of wet skin slapping against skin he could remember. Tears he could remember. “Oh, they could cry!”

His shoulders fidgeted as Dr. Darkschewitz perked up. “They could cry, really?”

“Yes, at least, the one I saw did.” Yuuri tear stained face slipped into his mind over and over, captured like a photograph, a million questions hiding behind the snapshot.

The doctor scratched his chin, pensive. “Hmm, interesting. Crying?”

“Why is that so interesting?”

“Oh, nothing!” Dr. Darkschewitz shrugged off the idea, covering his mouth to cough. “Nothing really. I need to get back to my research, Vitya. Good to see you are alright. Dosvidanya.”

“Dosvidanya.” The screen folded and sucked the projection back into itself, letting the memory of Yuuri’s stricken face fade into the soft, gossamer glazed vision in his mind once more. 

What did Yuuri want? Victor found himself asking this daily now, and still, the answer felt just past his grasp, his fingertips just brushing it. The last bits of fog rolled over the water as he turned down the street, and it hit him so hard he canted back a few paces. _A castle by the sea._

His paced picked up, legs and feet nearly tripping over themselves and toppling him over as he ran through the empty streets. He knew what he needed to do. His feet pounded on the wooden steps as he jogged the last few steps to the apartment. This time, he’d figure out everything. He just needed to get Yuuri to a place away from himself, to give him part of his dream.

The door slammed against the wall with the force of Victor’s opening, leaving part of his face encased in shadow as his smile flashed. Yuuri spun around from his seat on the couch, eyes wide with surprise and distress. “Want to go to the beach?” Victor inquired, trying to subvert his irritation with another dose of his saccharine tone.

Yuuri trembled but nodded, “S-sure.”

Bracing himself against the ledge, Victor stepped onto the metal railing, the green paint restoring a brightness to the edge of the metropolis. _Must be another place humans come,_ he thought to himself, his eye settling on the water.

“The beach is nice!”

“It’s a riverfront,” Yuuri corrected, bundling into himself, arms wrapped over his knees where he sat on the bench. Shrubbery tangled and weaved behind where Yuuri sat, vines flowing like a waterfall on either side.

“Right,” Victor agreed, walking over and taking his spot next to Yuuri. “I’m always reminded of the sea when I see the water in the morning. It’s the same in St. Petersburg and Tokyo.”

Wind swept Yuuri’s bangs as he lifted his head up enough for Victor to catch his eyes. “You lived in Tokyo?”

“Mhm.” Victor nodded. “When I was young. I never thought I’d leave St. Petersburg when I came back, though.” Maybe here they could find a new foundation outside of skating, outside of functions and competitions. Yuuri may have never set foot on Japanese soil but he was modeled after the people, his programming might connect. “Have you ever felt like that?”

“I was sold to the eatery after a client got too pushy. I…malfunctioned…and when she tried to hug me, I shoved her away.”

“Wow, why?”

“She was…too close. I couldn’t…I didn’t want to…” His sigh pushed the top of his sweater sleeve forward, almost a gust of wind in its own. “Everyone keeps fixing me. Hoping I’ll do better. That I’m not a malfunction…” he gulped, “or worse…going to be def—”

“Yuuri, you aren’t a malfunction. No one thinks that.” Victor’s voice rang out resolute, unyielding, like the tide coming to shore. “I don’t know what you want me to be to you.”

“I just want you to be Victor.” The simplicity of the statement filled a well Victor didn’t know lay dry and thirsty in his heart. He looked up, his blue eyes vexed at the words as Yuuri stood, his face absolute. “I…I really liked watching you skate. I keep feeling like…I’ll malfunction…but, I’ll make it up to your at the next event!” Yuuri’s determined expression returned, his brows straight and the brown of his eyes deeper than the shadow of a forest at sunrise. “When you came to the eatery, it felt like…like…”

_Fate._ Victor wanted to finish the statement, but the bright red heating Yuuri’s cheeks made him think twice. He smiled, wanting to reach out his hand but knowing it wouldn’t be met. Androids didn’t shake hands.

Victor didn’t get a chance to act. Before he could reach out to tell Yuuri how he’d show his love, Yuuri’s eyes filled with fright. Beaming red and blue lights from beneath a motorcycle lit the path behind them, fading in and out as Victor heard footsteps trudging down the steps.

“Ahh!” Yuuri stalled, dumbstruck and stammering as he leaped up and away. “Officer, it’s not what it looks like!”

“Really?” the officer replied skeptically. “Looks like lovers to me. Give me your barcode.” Yuuri shook as he peeled back his sweater, turning over his forearm. A light flashed and the thin strip with numbers underneath lit up just as they had when Minami did at the Institute, but this time Yuuri didn’t look at ease. His sweater fell over his wrist as he recoiled and Victor withheld the tickle in his fingers threatening to grab the officer by the throat.

“We weren’t doing anything,” Victor explained, his voice thin and laced with irritation. The officer reached forward, grabbing for Victor’s wrist. He pulled his arm back, stricken with insult. “I don’t have a barcode! I’m human!”

“My mistake, Mr… Can I have your codes, please?” Victor contained his eyeroll long enough to pull his screen up on his phone. With an almost instantaneous communication from one device to the other, the registration popped up on the officer’s screen. The man scrolled through, looking from the phone to Yuuri and Victor, then back down. “You have two registered to you, correct?”

“Yes,” Victor answered, the level tone of his voice wearing. He hated talking like this. “One is a loan out, but yes, both are under my name.”

“You only have one with you?”

Shit. There was no use looking to Yuuri, who began to mutter something incoherent in his ear. He shot the officer a look, eyes full blue of icy disdain. “Are they not allowed to charge at home?”

The officer raised his hand in the air. “Apologies. There’s been a lot of android incidents reported in the area. A few defectives trying to slip. Just doing our best for your safety, sir.”

“Of course.”

“Keep an eye out,” the officer called as he climbed back on his motorcycle. “Not just those you need to watch out for. Junkies will skin you to get ahold of a Synthetic.”

***

“Ahhhgg!!!!!” Victor shot up in the bed, heart beating in his chest so hard, it pounded like drums in his ears. Another damned nightmare striking him in his sleep. He searched the room, eyes adjusting to the light until he felt the feather of a touch on his hand. Startled, Victor snatched his hand away, flinging the blanket up before he could see the sway of dark strands and mahogany eyes shining in the of moonlight. Yuuri scuttled to the far side of the bed. “Oh, it’s you, Yuuri.” He breathed out a sigh of relief. “What are you doing here?”

“Umm…well…you keep screaming in your sleep...”

“Oh.” His sleep-addled mind couldn’t comprehend what that meant. He was still having nightmares? More than the ones that woke him?

Yuuri inched closer, painstakingly slow, chancing to reach his hand out once more. “I found that when I touch you…you stop.”

“I do?”

“Mhm. I leave when your breathing goes back to normal rhythms.” His face glowed pink against the silvery moonlight, a vision Victor would like to see every night.

“Okay.” Victor extended his hand palm up on the mattress. “You can hold my hand.” Yuuri smiled brightly at the words, sitting up against the headboard and Victor repositioned himself in the bed. His fingers curved over Victor’s hand, pulling until their clasped hands rested in Yuuri’s lap. “Neh, Yuuri?”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t leave this time,” Victor said, letting his hair fall over the pillow as he closed his eyes. With the weight of Yuuri’s hand anchoring him, Victor drifted off, into a peaceful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just four chapters away from the end of part 1!
> 
> My husband drew some art of [ Cyberpunk Victor](https://twitter.com/caffeine_clout/status/1258507605804068865?s=20)  
> from chapter 6, if you click the underline, you can see it!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has endured with me. I know this last part took a bit of a detour, but I wanted to take some time to develop the world as well as the relationships without feeling forced. I hope it makes the story worth it. 
> 
> Tutti  
> A huge thank you to [faeriefirefly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/faeriefirefly/pseuds/faeriefirefly) for betaing!
> 
> If you want a sneak peek at the upcoming chapters, follow the link to the playlist!  
> Synthetic Playlist  
> [Songs of the Chapter](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLN7W9U2jU8ohf0qWJ2EmN94fXbFZOCK02)
> 
> Also, if you are over the age of 18 and want a place to yell about Yuri on Ice, please join the 18oI discord!  
> [Discord 18OI](https://discord.gg/TYMxcAB)
> 
> If you’d like to follow me for updates on Twitter or Tumblr, please click below!  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/tutsibootsi)  
> [Tumblr](https://tutsibug.tumblr.com/)


	12. Arena

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor and Yuuri head to the Arena for the final event. 
> 
> Yuri slaughters. 
> 
> Yuuri slays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song of the Chapter  
> Music for the Chapter  
> [ Arena](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iqqkxCGvmpo)  
> Song Yuri Skates to:  
> [ Clockwork](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tc-XxqEyolU)

The paper bag crinkled in time with the low hum in Victor’s chest, mirroring a tune like a songbird. _Like a starling,_ he thought, smiling to himself. His toes tapped up the steps while his head bobbed back and forth, swaying his fringe in and out of his sight like silvery crystals on a chandelier. Something akin to normalcy had rooted itself in his day-to-day life. He mulled over the past few weeks as he propped the bag of groceries on his hip, fumbling through his pocket for the key. Yuuri’s improvement had skyrocketed, his tenacious energy bounding through each practice. Today, everything synced. Flow, movement, steps, whatever Victor gave him, Yuuri could conquer.

Every thought widened the smile growing on Victor’s face as he slid the key in place. With a click, the lock popped and the door opened, and Victor loudly proclaimed, “ _Tadaima!_ ” He stopped short, being met with a look of panic as Yuuri crossed the room. “Or should I just say I’m home?”

Any amusement lost itself in Yuuri’s irritated huff. “Where did you go? I was charging and then…”

_Did he really think I left him?_ Victor quickly waved the preposterous notion away, letting his enthusiasm show by rustling the contents of the bag, the glass jars clanging against one another as his mouth drew into a heart shape. “It’s a surprise!” he said, beaming and rushing over to the countertop.

“We’re not going to the Plaza?” Yuuri’s eyes followed him curiously from the entry to the kitchen, one eyebrow raised in suspicion. The thin line of Yuuri’s mouth drawn back nearly to disappointment made Victor chuckle softly as he glanced back to Yuuri making his way into the kitchen. Some program inside must really crave katsudon, as he became testy without.

“I thought I’d cook for us,” Victor answered as he leaned over, grabbing the skillet beneath from the cupboard below.

“You can cook?” Yuuri’s jaw fell so far it looked unhinged, his eyes filling with awe.

“Of course I can cook!” Viktor gasped out the reply, placing his hand over his heart. It would be mildly offensive if Yuuri weren’t so earnest in his expression, but Victor enjoyed playing up the dramatics regardless.

“It’s not really a thing I’m used to humans knowing...”

“And I didn’t know Synthetics were programmed to be rude!” Victor let his smile play with the words, keeping them from appearing too brash as he put the skillet down on the stovetop.

“Ah…well, that’s only because we’re supposed to mimic humans!” Yuuri barked back, and for a moment, Victor froze. He sought for a tell in Yuuri’s face, the crinkle of his nose or a twinkle in the warmth of his eyes to indicate humor. He paused, the stretch of air thinning until the straight line of Yuuri’s pout curled upward and he winked. 

“Alright!” Victor guffawed, laughing more at himself as he thought back, wondering what part of Yuuri contained such humor. The clinking of steel bowls and the sketching of a knife against a cutting board remained the only sounds as Victor fell into the rhythms of cooking. Each strip cut to a fine and equal proportion, memories coaching him to perfect a precise slice of onion with each dip of the knife.

“What are you making?” Yuuri inquired, his voice softer than a cloud from where he sat on the bar stool in the counter.

Sniffling back tears stinging from the onion, Victor looked behind him and answered with a smile. “ _Kotleti._ ” Simple, easy to construct, and without the need for conversions. Why after nearly thirty years past the war America continued to use such a strange measuring system was unbeknownst to him. He shook his head, unwrapping the minced beef and chicken. “The secret is chopped onion.” He tipped the onions into the bowl to join the meat as he spoke.

“Really?” Yuuri’s voice sounded as inquisitive as a young child as he leaned up, attempting to glance past Victor’s shoulder as he cracked an egg, adding it to the bowl.

“ _Da_.” He smiled. “That’s what my mother always told me, anyway.” His voice carried along casually while his heart panged beneath his ribs. “It’s her family’s recipe.”

Yuuri nodded understandingly. He cocked his head to the side, black strands falling delicately into his face. “What’s it like?” he asked, and Victor turned in curiosity to see the wonder in his sparkling eyes. “Having a mother?”

_Ouch._ Victor let some of the water drip from the bread as he hesitated, watching the droplets fall like tears into the ocean. No one asked Victor those questions, not intentionally. Perhaps Yuuri didn’t know; he had been engrossed in the skynetics at the auto shop. Yuuri enjoyed Victor’s skating, but that didn’t mean he heard of his parents. Victor put an end to the announcers postulating if he was skating grief every time he stepped onto the ice a decade ago.

Maybe, just maybe, Yuuri didn’t know about Victor. If that idea became truth, it meant that when Yuuri said he wanted Victor to be Victor, he truly wanted just Victor, not the pin up on the poster nor the pitiable orphan with stitched-up broken wings. “I…I don’t really know. She died when I was young—ah, both my parents did. But, it was nice, when she was here.” He folded the meat with the wooden spoon, stirring with one hand as he added spices with the other. “A security.”

“Oh, like the Philia droids?” Yuuri perked up, his shoulders raising as his voice heightened, the baggy t-shirt sleeves ruffling as he leaned over further.

“No.” Victor laughed as he formed a patty, laying it flat atop the panko as he tried to find the words to describe to his mother. “Like a warm blanket. Comforting, soft, but protective.” He scooped up another portion of meat and held out his hand. “Here, do you want to help?”

“Oh, sure!” Yuuri hopped off the chair and swiftly stepped around the edge, his blue shirt catching the edge of the counter just enough for Victor to get a glimpse of the creamy skin of his midriff. “How do I do this?” he asked, staring at the meat mixture like a new piece of equipment, his eyes sparkling so much, Victor thought they were almost sinful.

Victor slid behind Yuuri, reaching his arms around to cradle under his fingers as he molded the cutlet. “Like this.” His longer fingers stretched, cupping Yuuri’s to press and shape the ball of meat into an oval. Oh, he could feel the tenderness of Yuuri’s skin for an eternity and he doubted it would be enough time. Yet time wasn’t the problem. Victor knew that somewhere in his wiring, Yuuri’s metrics proved a greater importance than the fleeting romanticisms in Victor’s mind. “Good. Perfect.” Victor wrapped his arms around Yuuri in a hug before pulling back. “Just put love in them, that’s all.” The words his mother said every time surfaced and spilled before he could catch them and he stood stone still, watching Yuuri’s reaction.

“Okay!” Yuuri smiled and it shone brighter than a thousand stars in a jar. Did he realize what he’d said?

The cutlets sizzled and simmered in the skillet and they continued cooking dinner in a contented quiet. Victor busied himself with finishing the Oliver salad while Yuuri tended to the frying. All talk had dissipated as they applied themselves to their tasks, and Victor found himself thankful that Yuuri didn’t press any further. Some doors weren’t meant to be opened.

The table dressed with plates and utensils, Victor set the salad and _kotleti_ down gently before taking his seat across from Yuuri. The first forkful of _kotleti_ melted in his mouth, hitting like one of his best memories. “Vkusno!” he exclaimed through his bite.

“This is really good! The outside is like a pork cutlet!” Yuuri remarked, smiling as he chewed.

“It’s perfect! Just like I remember!”

“She must’ve been amazing…” Victor saw a blush start to bloom across Yuuri’s cheeks as he looked up from his plate. “…to be your mother. She probably loved you—a lot.”

“Yes…she was a hero.” The strain in Victor’s voice surprised even himself, but he recovered quickly, clearing his throat and changing the subject offhandedly. “Chris’ll be here tomorrow.” Chris had said he just happened to have an appointment scheduled and could come to see if Victor could really be a coach. Victor didn’t miss the unlikelihood of pure coincidence but he had feigned ignorance enough times that it was easy to toss a cavalier “Oh?” to Chris.

“Reminds me of when I used to talk with Phichit every night. Chris is his favorite client.” Yuuri said between bites, scraping the last bit of his salad off his plate, the sour cream leaving a strip of residue as he lifted his fork.

Victor let the comment die with a simple nod of acknowledgement, allowing his chewing to be the reason for his lack of response rather than his ruminating. The words Chris said, the way Phichit kept his levels in check. Could Phichit feel something without the levels breaking? And if he could, would that mean Yuuri could, too? He stopped the thought in its tracks, cutting into another bit of meat, the flakes crunching under the weight of his fork.

***

Victor’s eyes shot up into the sunlight, momentarily blinding him as he tried to view the top of the gates to the arena. Bolstered by wood planks, barbed wire wound around mountainous metal fencing, appearing more like a prison than a venue for a competition. But beyond the metal fencing, Victor could already feel the excitement and anticipation thrumming through the crowd.

“Yuuri, we’re here!” Victor couldn’t contain his enthusiasm.

“Just…let me…make…the adjustments!” Minami cried through gritted teeth, whining as Yuuri paced back and forth. Each time he turned, the device in Minami’s hand squealed with an agitated beep. “I need you to hold still!”

“Oh.” Yuuri halted, staggering a few steps before he righted himself. “Here.” He extended his arm.

Yuuri’s normally warm eyes drooped and his face seemed to be sagging. He looked tired, uncharged. The more Victor studied his features while cupping his chin in thought, the more he came to the same conclusion. “Did you not sleep well, Yuuri?” Victor asked.

Yuuri twitched, squeaking as he pulled his arm free from Minami’s grasp once again. Minami’s white shirt riffled as he fell back, but Yuuri paid him no attention, focusing on the gate in front of him. “I don’t sleep. I-I’m fine.”

“Yuuri, I really need to read your levels.” Minami interrupted, his voice insistent. The dial tone on the device shrieked once more, drawing Minami’s attention down to it. He gasped audibly, “No, that can’t be,” he spat, before muttering nearly under his breath, “That has to be a mistake.”

“What’s a mistake?” Yuuri shrank at Victor’s words.

The device fell back into Minami’s case as he let it slide from his hand, landing with a crash. “N-nothing. Everything’s fine. I just need to grab my back up device…and…” He sighed. “I left it at the institute…ahh!” His face fell into dramatic despair, blond strands falling over his red fringe as he slumped over. “I’m going to miss Yuuri-kun skate! What a tragedy!”

“Can’t you get it tomorrow?” Victor offered the alternative with his hand held out, the vinyl of his tan jacket crinkling as he folded his arm.

Without hesitation, Minami shook his head to disagree. “No, I need to test— check some things.” Nothing in his voice was convincing besides the current of pleading to believe him flowing through to his eyes, already beginning to glisten with tears. “I need to do that at the lab.”

It didn’t take a genius to realize that whatever Minami wanted to test, he didn’t want to divulge in that moment. His emotions were clear as a blue sky, and the look in his eyes was enough for Victor to wave and nod his acknowledgment, burying the questions he wanted to voice. The sweltering temperatures only heated Minami’s face more as he sought words, sputtering an onslaught of incoherent babbling and the beginnings of phrases Victor could barely understand.

“It’s alright. We’ll see you tomorrow!” Yuuri waved wide and out of sync, off kilter from his normal rhythms. Eyes unreadable, Minami stared, curiously long, and for the first time since Victor had met him, absolutely silent. He nodded once more and waved goodbye, the crowd swiftly swallowing his tiny body.

The problem of Yuuri remained. If he could borrow Minami’s diagnostics for a moment, perhaps he could figure out why Yuuri’s face twitched and his speech slowed before speeding up to speaking too rapidly in the same breath. Yet as they entered through the gates, no one slid a wary or concerned eye in their direction. In fact, Victor noticed whispers and giggles shot toward Yuuri, a telltale signs of fans.

Yuuri’s resigned silence lasted throughout the signups and sign in. He stayed glued to Victor’s side but his eyes were far away. As they approached the signup table, a man propped his legs atop it, the shine on his boots gleaming under the burning sun, his pink mohawk falling behind him as he tipped his head back, the lack of amusement on his face showing even under his glasses. He didn’t speak, just whirled his finger as they approached to the screens popping up from the table, the middle asking in bright blue font, “Already signed up?” Victor brought out his phone, fidgeting through the screens until he pulled up the QR code, the mess of black and white in the center of the box on display as he held it forward. The man’s visor spun numbers in light over neon yellow as the man locked eyes on Victor’s screen.

The man tipped his glasses down and asked, “Another Yuuri?” The bright green of his irises looked almost anemic at first, but as they settled, Victor saw the numbers scanning from the visor directly into his eyes. 

“Eros Synthetic Yuuri. Yuuri Katsuki,” Victor answered as he smiled down at gelled-back black hair, reaching his hand to rest along Yuuri’s shoulder. The black jacket concealing Yuuri’s costume swished as Yuuri jolted under the touch. He gave an apologetic smile, sliding away while preoccupying his hands with what appeared like more than enough strength to zip up his jacket effectively. A crisp ding sounded and Victor looked down at his phone, the QR code replaced with Yuuri’s player information under the words “Event 2.” The man simultaneously gave them a swift wave to move along.

Victor’s black boots scuffed along the concrete as he stepped out of the way, scanning the area for where Yuuri needed to go. Daylight in the open arena made the scene look more like the suburban street Yuri took him down than the foggy clubs of the prior events. Flat concrete with two cages in the distance was all the ambiance aside from the massive crowds. A colorful circus of people cycled in and out, their bright hues and tight clothing appearing nearly melded into their skin. In this July heat, it could be possible, if temperature affected anyone. The more he looked, the less indistinguishable humans were from androids. He could catch a glimpse of a heart tattoo as a man turned or a woman tilted her head in laughter, but the ratios between the two looked almost even. Did everyone come to this event?

“Coach Victor, it’s not like you to keep a man waiting.” Hot air wafted against his neck as the man spoke salaciously, the tip of his lip catching the tiny hairs. Victor turned around to catch Chris in his peripheral vision, standing next to Phichit, head cocked with a mischievous grin on his face.

“Chris! When did you get in? You were supposed to ride with us.”

“I’ve been busy,” Chris replied, smirking.

“You came with Phichit.”

“ _We’ve_ been busy.”

Of course! Victor should have read between the lines. Whether intentionally aligning the dates or not, Chris’s primary motivation was more about what was between his legs and less about the competition.

The speakers popped overhead as they came to life. “Five minutes until Event 1.” The speakers went quiet and the crowds began shuffling toward the metal fencing.

“Oh, okay. Where’s Yuuri?” Victor spun around, the edges of his jacket catching behind him as he turned, pulling Yuuri’s arms away from where they were held together stiffly behind Victor’s back. What was he to do? Victor let his charm slip out, keeping the building tightness in chest quiet as he snaked his arms over Yuuri’s shoulders. “Come on, Yuuri! Let’s watch the first match! We’ll take is nice and easy…” Carrying on about nothing, Victor led the way to the cage, keeping his demeanor collected and calm. The heat of the metal almost singed his fingers as he got near the edge, and he snapped back his hand, letting his thumb massage through the ache as he waved, seeing Mila, Sara, Mickey, and Emil approach on the side.

“Mickey, he’s not even going up against him!” He saw the sway of long brown hair as Sara tried to wrap her arms over her brother’s shoulder, only to be brushed off.

“What? Do you like Yuri now?” Mickey sneered. “I didn’t think he was your type.”

“Watch it, Crispino.” Mila pointed a wrench in his direction before pocketing it in the apron tied around her waist. “Remember that hockey player?” Mickey went quiet as the words, ducking down to inspect Emil’s arm. He tugged until he smiled, satisfied.

“I can’t believe this is out in daylight!” Victor smiled as he peered around the massive crowd, catching a pair of eyes he recognized, then the staunch features jogged his memory, Yuuri’s fear in that moment still making Victor feel incensed. “That’s the officer who accused Yuuri!”

“Detroit’s best not-actually-kept secret. Humans will make a mint today on bets alone. Public officials send their lackeys. No one raids on Arena Day.” Mila giggled her girlish giggle. “I need to find Yuri. Make sure his arms on tight!” She turned to Yuuri and added, “Good luck!”

Victor caught Yuuri’s eyes as they changed from the brink of nervousness to feigned happiness, waving back with an appreciative nod as Mila slipped through the waves of onlookers. Why was Yuuri so anxious? He’d already been through one event. What was bothering him?

The alarm blared before Victor could sort it out, the cage rattling as the gates lifted. Screams and applause broke out as the players whizzed back and forth, so fast Victor could only catch flashes of light.

“Wow, the moves are so cool…” Phichit’s dreamy eyed gaze fell on the players as he watched them twist, one finger on his camera while he aimed it through an opening between the crisscrossed metal fence.

Chris leaned into Phichit, letting his hand rest on his waist. “I bet you’d look great out there. They’d all fall from heat overload.”

Phichits eyes darted from the players to his phone. “I’m better at my function with the Institute.”

“You do put the fun in function…” Chris tapered off as the flash hit his eyes, and Victor stifled a laugh as he watched Chris blink rapidly to adjust.

“I’ll make that the hashtag!” Phichit giggled as he thumbed the screen, the paper-thin device barely visible in his hand.

The announcer spoke over the skaters, this time hidden somewhere Victor couldn’t see him, but he knew the raspy voice as he cleared his throat. “Ladies, Men, and gentle droids!” He paused to let the cheers dissipate. “Welcome…to the event you’ve all been waiting for…” In the middle of the concave concrete, lights flashed and whirled as one of the skaters leapt into the air, skimming over two others before landing on one leg with a flourish—Yuri making his entrance. Yuri skated forward as the roars erupted volcanically, giving a thumps up in the direction of the soundboard. Victor looked over to see Otabek glance up, eyes stoic but intent as he exchanged looks with Yuri; they were here to win. The announcer cleared his throat to cut through the cheers. “…The Arena!!! All bets for the first two events should have been placed. If you didn’t bet…too bad! We don’t care!” He cackled loudly over angered hecklers. “Pipe down! You’ll be able vote for the final round still.” He waited a moment, letting the skaters fall into the middle of the curve. “This is a civilized-ish event! Mr. Lee is still here watching…” Victor could almost hear the eye roll in his tone. “…and wanted me to reiterate…no killings in the matches! This includes shutoffs! Now that the boring stuff is over with, Otabek, turn up the music!” The announcer’s voice savored the dramatics, pausing at the precise moment to leave the audience on their toes. “Let Event 1 of the Arena begin!!!”

As Otabek pushed forward the audio on the soundboard, one hand on his headphone-covered ear, Victor could almost hear Yuuri’s gulp over the music, snatching him from the first moments to peer down at his skater. His brown eyes shimmered, not with the luster of enthusiasm but with the uneasy waters of a storm brewing. Yuuri’s entire body vibrated under the rapid taps of his foot as he stared at the scene. _What was that?_

A smack landed against the cage, metal rattling, the vibrations resonating through Victor’s skin as he jumped at the sound. There, just in front of him, was a face smashed against the fence. Green eyes flaming with the fires of possession stared back at him. Yuri’s face was drunk on his own venom as he threaded his fingers to get a better grip before pulling back. He smirked. Another snap, and Yuri thrust the player back into the fence. _POP._ Something plopped from the cage, white landing on the ground with a plop. Victor glanced down and a lone eyeball looked back up at him, sitting iris up in a puddle of oil.

The music mirrored the Yuri Plisetsky’s demonic rampage, his mouth nearly foaming as he skated faster, leaping into the air to spin four times over another two players, just out of their arms’ reach. He tore through, snatching two more skaters by their heads and thrusting them together. Yuri wasn’t there to skate: he was there to destroy. If the round lasted the entire song, Victor would be amazed.

What was Yuuri thinking? He turned to see his wide brown eyes and trembling hands and did the only thing he could. He grabbed Yuuri by the hand, dragging him through the crowds. “C’mon Yuuri, let’s go warm up instead!” he suggested, his voice unalarming as he worked his way through the crowd, surveying the area for any empty place to let Yuuri calm down. He was wound up, on edge, not tapping into his Eros and flipping the switch. Yuuri was coiled tight for some reason and desperately trying not to let Victor see. Why wouldn’t he show him? Something was wrong, but what was it?

The crowd roared once more. Yuuri shivered under his grip. He tugged tighter, not letting Yuuri look back to see whatever Yuri had surely done. He looked up and around, but nothing would keep Yuuri distanced enough in this concrete desert. At the edge of the fencing, he could make out a sign on a small, old building that read Concessions. Of course! No one there ate anything!

Shutting the door behind them with a small pat, Victor smiled. Inside the old building, an air-conditioner whirred, drowning out some of the screams. It gave Victor a moment to breathe, think, decipher what was going on with the hiccupping machinery inside Yuuri. He crossed his arms, placing his hand over his chin as he observed Yuuri. Silent, so silent except for the few slips of muttered words as Yuuri wrung his hands, worrying his bottom lip. His eyes danced around, unfocused, unbalanced, afraid.

“He’s a killer even without his gun fingers! If I didn’t know, I’d think they were all goners!” The announcers voice boomed through the room, the highest screams of the crowd reaching them. Victor saw fear grip Yuuri tight, freezing him, his eyes looking at the door. Victor rushed over but Yuuri pushed back, falling away from him and toppling to the floor.

Androids were so fragile sometimes, finicky even in their pristine design. _Sometimes it feels like Yuuri is made of glass._ What did Yuuri want? Victor thought he knew; last night, at dinner, Victor felt sure that Yuuri wanted him, but now, he looked back at Victor like a stranger. _He pulls away every time I try to get close…_ Victor didn’t know what to do when something broke, except to shatter it and then reform it from the shards. Raking his fingers through his hair to push back his fringe, Victor thought on the only possibility available. His voice fell flat, “If you don’t want me, you don’t have to have me. You can go back to the Institute. I won’t stop you.”

Time stopped. Life stopped. For a moment, Victor wondered if his heart had stopped, too. Yuuri looked struck, sculpted from stone, as if tears could fall from his eyes. Only this time, they didn’t. Yuuri stood up, his shock dissolving into an unreadable expression. “Are you trying to test me?”

“What?” Victor chanced a step forward, scrambling for an explanation, and kept his voice soothing. “No, I wasn’t being serious.”

“I’m worried about what will happen if-if I want to be with you!” Yuuri stammered, his voice soft but carrying enough anger to keep halt Victor in his tracks. “Can I do this? Can I maintain my levels? What if I— What if I keep malfunctioning?”

_I’m not good at handling when people are upset, much less an upset android._ The air closed in around Victor and he threaded his hand through his hair, letting his fingers push back his bangs until he could clearly see the angry, distraught look on Yuuri’s face with both eyes. “What do you want me to do? Do you want me to kiss you?”

“NO!” Yuuri’s wretched scream speared through Victor. He blanched, stepping back. The entire world rested on a hairpin trigger while he watched Yuuri tense and shiver. He’d been surprised by Yuuri countless times, but he never wanted a surprise like this, a surprise that stabbed into his heart. Yuuri shuddered, balling his fists. “ _Hanarezu ni soba ni ite yo!_ ” The sudden switch to Japanese struck down any remaining resolve Victor had held. Stunned, his eyes searching Yuuri’s trembling face, the translation sank in: Stay by my side and never leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone reading! You all are amazing!   
> We are in the final 3 chapters of Part 1. If you've noticed the chapter change to 45, it is because I am posting all three parts as 1. Part 1 ends at Chapter 15. 
> 
> AHH!!!! I have art of Yuuri's skate outfit from chapter 10. I will embed it (hopefully today) into Chapter 10, but if you want to see it follow the link here:  
> [Cyberpunk Yuuri Link](https://twitter.com/caffeine_clout/status/1262102161455853570?s=20)  
> The biggest thank you to my husband, Coffee, for constantly being a rock to lean on and the brush to bring my story to life. I may be biased but I love his art. 
> 
> I really hope it will become more entertaining as time goes on.   
> Thank you :)  
> A huge thank you to [faeriefirefly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/faeriefirefly/pseuds/faeriefirefly) for betaing!
> 
> If you want a sneak peek at the upcoming chapters, follow the link to the playlist!  
> Synthetic Playlist  
> [Songs of the Chapter](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLN7W9U2jU8ohf0qWJ2EmN94fXbFZOCK02)
> 
> Also, if you are over the age of 18 and want a place to yell about Yuri on Ice, please join the 18oI discord!  
> [Discord 18OI](https://discord.gg/TYMxcAB)
> 
> If you’d like to follow me for updates on Twitter or Tumblr, please click below!  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/tutsibootsi)   
> [Tumblr](https://tutsibug.tumblr.com/)


	13. Final

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor's coaching comes to an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music for the Chapter  
> First Skate Song:  
> [ Don’t tell Me to Calm Down](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_DyyWxRqwoc)  
> Victor’s love Song:  
> [ Full Bloom](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4ySFSLw3dXQ)  
> Final Skate Song  
> [ Trap Requiem](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6BxyZDC_HI0)

Silence. A quaking, quiet chill sat frozen in Victor’s bones, and he could only guess what a disheveled mess he looked like crossing the platform. One rigid but protective arm hung on Yuuri’s shoulder, attached to one fool of a man without a sinner’s hope of repentance. There were no gods here, only men and the machines of their making.

Recounting the moments as he counted the steps bringing them closer and closer to the edge of the gate, Victor could only stab blindly at the reasoning he thought so clear at the time. Why did he think it was a good idea to absolve himself of his ties to Yuuri? To trek back behind the high stone walls of his creativity that kept others out as much as they provided him safety. Being with Yuuri freed him from the world; his touch gave him a reprieve from the nightmares.

Luckily, Yuuri didn’t shrug off his arm, but his forward-faced stare never drifted. Victor clung to his burgeoning desperation to find a fix. Would Yuuri forgive him? Was forgiveness even apart of his programming? He couldn’t possibly right this in the next ten paces and he was sure a head tilt and a cocky grin wouldn’t lend him any favors.

“Event two in five…players to the gates.” The overhead speaker called what Victor already knew. He was out of time. His prepared persona, a calm and collected person, started to fray and tatter, unraveling the ends as Victor fell completely out of his element. He needed to say something—anything—to Yuuri before he went off. He owed him the truth, at least. Yuuri wasn’t his function, not to Victor. He was his heart, pulsing and beating with love every time he looked at him. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t human, he wanted Yuuri, and all of the programming that entailed, in whatever way he could have him. Whether Yuuri could feel the same love he held in his heart or not, he’d learn, be whatever it took to stay by his side.

The metal sheen of the fencing reflected in the light, shining in Victor’s view. He caught himself, shaking his head as he shook from the feeling, and then Yuuri was there, right in front of him. With a clank, the bag dropped to the floor, tumbling over on the concrete. Victor reached down to grab it and felt the press of a finger to his scalp. _What was that?_ Victor thought, tipping his head up as his hand reached for his hair, the ghost of the imprint still lingering. Yuuri’s eyes danced once more before him, shimmering starlight in the warmth of a summer night. A smirk slid across Yuuri’s face, peculiar in the given circumstances, but a fleeting grace that turned in the moment as Yuuri strode towards the gate, leaving Victor only a trail of confused silence in his wake.

Daylight began to recede into dusk, streaking the last orange stripes across the sky. By the final event, Victor was certain they’d be under the twinkle of stars and the high beamed lights, but for now, the sky lit enough to only leave a long, circular shadow behind the assembling crowd. For now, he squinted through the diamond mesh of the fence in an effort to find Yuuri and maybe get another glimpse of how he was feeling.

“Ladies, fellows, and gentle droids…” a raspy voice called through the speakers. A gentle brush of fingers grazed over his back, and Victor twitched as he turned, catching Chris’ half-cocked grin along with the glint of a question in his hazel eyes. Victor gave a reassuring smile and a nod over to the cages so Chris could return his wandering hands to Phichit. The dramatic pause ended and the announcer continued, “…release the next victims!!!” The laugh coming through the speakers might have been ominous had Victor never seen the character of a droid attached to it, and he could almost see the dazzling bowtie sparkling as he played his laughter to a menacing tune.

With a reeling screech, the gates opened, and once more, players poured through the entrances. Winding, zigzagging past each other as they roamed over and out, sliding around the edges of the cage seeking praise. A brush of blond hair rushed forward, the blue metallic sequins on his vinyl jacket winking as Emil gave a wide wave. The silver lights turned to yellow as he sprung up, earning a small surge of the crowd in his area. _Must be where Mickey is,_ Victor surmised, as his mind and eyes roved over the other players, sizing them up.

No one looked as broad and monstrous as the first competition, but the markedly more seasoned players made up in skill what they lacked in size, just like Yuri. One leaped over the other, bending low and springing up, back and forth like a clown’s juggling pins, never missing a timed beat. The crowd surged in applause, revving up with every leap. The claps and cheers become unrhythmic, chaotic, on the brink of a riot before the competition even started.

“Yada, yada, yada…things I already said before.” Victor heard pages shuffle over the speakers. “Ah! After this, the screens will reopen and you will be able to cast your votes for the final winner! Now, Otabek, turn that music up!!!”

A cascade of blond poured over Otabek’s shoulder as he pushed up the audio and Victor could clearly see Yuri, arms crossed, disgruntled, watching from the sidelines. The manic demon of before had dissipated to a muted glare, his ripped tank loose, slipping off his shoulders as he turned to his side, adjusting to Otabek’s movements. His eyes widened, mouth falling open, and Victor spun back around to see a vision before him.

Hundreds of screens, each a millimeter wide, stuck like sequins to the back of Yuuri’s jacket, sparkling alive over the mesh. As Yuuri lifted into a jump, maroon surged from the bottom screens and suddenly the black screens took flight, showing a phoenix ascending from the ashes, blazing wings spread wide, soaring past his left shoulder and coming round again. Over and over, through every twist and jive. The scene was as mesmerizing as it was effective.

 _What is Yuuri thinking? Is he smiling?_ Victor wondered as Yuuri appeared, soaring through the masses of skaters, sliding on beams of light through the maze. The midnight blue of the jacket yielded to his delicate features, his pale skin and ink-black hair contrasting, contradicting, just like Yuuri himself. He raised his hands up to the sky as if in prayer before clapping them together to fall in a straight line as his leg stretched long and elegant behind him, the burning phoenix catching the eye of a smaller girl.

Even with her thin frame, she had a larger man wrapped around her waist, spinning him like a hula hoop before tossing him to the crowd, her eyes trained on Yuuri’s back as he rose back up. She flew forward as if she had the winds of the gods under her sails. Reaching out, she snatched Yuuri by his hair, tugging him backward. The cheers of the crowd only fueled the venomous smile curling her lips as Yuuri bent backward, shuffling on his skates to keep himself upright. She lifted her hand in a preemptive victory pose, and the armor guarding Victor’s heart cracked, spilling fear into his eyes, a layer of ice over the brilliant blue.

As her arm was held aloft, it was met by a higher hand. Emil’s gripped as he high-fived her, rolling her over his arm until she had no choice but to release Yuuri from her grip as she slammed in the ground. _I’ll have to thank Mickey and Emil later._ Victor grinned at the thought as he watched Emil shoot Yuuri a thumbs-up before ducking in the other direction, into the midst of a bridge of players with arms tangled in an arch as they fought for dominance. Yuuri sprung backward, eyes wide as he regained his footing, then began circling the arena, whizzing past on blue lights.

One brow quirked in question, Chris leaned in closer, shielding his mouth with his hand. “Victor, is he alright?”

Yuuri answered before Victor could open his mouth, blue light spinning beneath his feet, around and around as he spun through the air, wobbling but landing on his feet. The two behind him fell in stunned silence.

“Wow, look at him go! I’ve never seen Yuuri like this before!” Phichit gasped, speaking the words shouting in Victor’s brain.

“He’s fine. He’s more than fine…he’s perfect,” Victor marveled as each centimeter forward revealed a faster, more adept Yuuri. Three more smashed together, falling in a pile as Yuuri raced around them, a gleaming blur against the sunset that matched the flames on his back. He leaped into the air, over the fallen players, kicking up into a death drop on one leg, the other stretched behind him. _Yes, Yuuri, show them you are the most beautiful out there. Your body makes the music._ Victor’s thoughts rose above the low thump of the sub-bass as the other players thrashed against each other.

By now, more lay scattered on the ground than in the air, but Yuuri sideswiped them all, rolling and twisting on the edge while another set chased behind him, then another, and another joining. A black-shirt-clad mob followed behind, knocking into each other as they chased their lights. Victor knew he was moving fast but all he could focus on were Yuuri’s knitted brows and sharp eyes as he sped forward, turning three times with his arms casually to the side before he sprang into the air to a cacophony of praise rising from the audience.

That wasn’t just any move: that was Victor’s signature move. When did he work on it so fluidly? The lineup, the three turn, the lift, everything executed flawlessly until the end. Yuuri twisted over himself, his legs a mere inch from the ground when another skater skidded beneath him. Legs spiraling like a cabaret girl on a chair, Yuuri popped himself back up, spinning to halt as the three tripped and fell behind him.

“There you have it! Narrowly escaping once again, the remaining players for the final event!” the announcer’s voice cheered, barely audible above the masses’ applause surrounding the cage.

Yuuri paused, the warmth of his brown eyes shimmering as he searched for praise, honesty, anything from Victor, but right then, Victor could only see small flashes in his peripheral vision as he untangled himself from the web of arms, pushing through the crowds. He darted toward the gate, each huff of breath marking the countdown until he could see Yuuri. The Yuuri who made his heart race and blood rush until his cheeks and nose were tinged rose. The Yuuri who drove him crazy believing he was a malfunction when he was perfect. The Yuuri who made him rethink everything it meant to be human versus being android. The Yuuri who just completed his signature move and barely made it into the final.

Surprise. Shock. Awe. Myriad feelings trumpeted in Victor’s mind as he swung around the bar into the middle of the gate, but one nearly gushed out of him, at the forefront as he hung his head low, wrapping his hand over his forehead to compose himself. An entire twenty-seven years and no one had surprised him as much as that one bright moment flashing over and over in his mind.

“Victor, I did good, right?”

He heard the enthusiasm ringing in Yuuri’s voice followed by the unspoken question. Did Yuuri please him? If only Yuuri knew. Taking a moment to acquiesce with a nod, Victor lunged forward, opening his arms wide with all the love pent up over the past month as he brought Yuuri’s head in closer and closer until no gap remained between their lips.

And they kissed. Could lips feel like this? Soft and delicate, the petal softness of roses brushing pink against pink, but so strong and warm. They were Yuuri. Sweet, driven, and inordinately sexy Yuuri. Victor knew he’d felt these lips before, but it felt like the difference between leaving for war and returning home. This kiss was hunger, need, desperation, and release all in one. The taste of freedom lingered in every head turn as Victor cupped his hands beneath Yuuri’s thighs, hoisting him up until he could feel the heat of those thighs wrapped around his waist.

Yuuri’s breath cracked as he broke away. “I want you. I want you.” Each line was spoken between kisses. “I don’t want anyone else. Just you. Only you. Only Victor.” Yuuri sounded as starved as Victor felt, and Victor mustered everything in him to not burst as he walked them over, kissing with every step, away from the gasping crowds and back over to the side railing.

“You have me.” Victor reassured, shifting him. He pressed Yuuri against the wall, the stone cool and he shivered more from the glossy eyes looking at him than the touch. He kissed Yuuri again, so much more tender it almost seemed chaste in comparison. Smiling into another kiss, he deepened it, rocking into Yuuri as he felt a distinctive stiffness, Yuuri rolling into Victor, meeting him with an exasperated but aroused little sigh. “Oh.” Victor gasped a little too.

Instantly, heat rushed from the friction between them to Yuuri’s face. “Yeah. I umm… I’m programmed to respond to…”

Oh. OH! Of course, Yuuri couldn’t help the swelling penned in his pants, not that Victor was far behind, cock at half-mast and growing with the weight of Yuuri’s thighs wrapped around him. Releasing his grip, he let Yuuri down gently, those brown eyes wide and ravenous as Yuuri curiously stared up at him. He reached forward, cupping Yuuri’s face. “I’ll take care of you.” Take care of; he nearly beamed as it left his mouth. He could care for Yuuri, fully now that he knew exactly what he wanted. Victor stalled, trying to untangle the words knotted in his chest and on his tongue. Not here, though. They both needed time, space, to sort everything out. “I think…we need to talk about a few things first.”

“Ten minutes until the final match! Cast your last bets!!!” the announcer’s splintering voice blared through the speakers once more. Screens shot up and unfolded all around, like mismatched puzzle pieces as the crowd corralled around them, spurting off who they were betting for and hollering about who they were not. More than a few times, Victor heard Yuuri’s name, but whether it was Yuuri or Yuri, he couldn’t tell through the shouting. He all but draped himself over Yuuri, only peeling away as he saw Chris and Phichit approaching.

“Wow, Yuuri! You did great!” Phichit smiled as he turned, sneaking his pointer finger over. With a click and a flash, he took another photo, Chris smiling widely behind him.

“I assume Victor’s already rewarded you, hasn’t he?” Chris’s voice tolled low and sensual, his face half shrouded in darkness as the stadium lights turned on. Yuuri blanched, but Victor crept closer, sneaking his arms around his waist to draw him into an embrace.

“Yuuri, my cute little Synthetic,” he mused, happily tilting his head and giggling at hearing Yuuri’s squeak. “Win and I’ll kiss you again,” he leaned in closer, “everywhere.”

“Victor!” Yuuri half hissed, half gasped, and if Victor was not mistaken, also ground his ass into him all at the same time. Yuuri’s body was no longer just a memory but a warm welcome home. Victor would be welcomed time and again to find Yuuri at his door. A sigh slipped from his lips and he almost pouted as Yuuri pulled forward, hefting his skates over his shoulder. “We need to get to the next gate,” Yuuri insisted, but the hint of a smile playing over his lips spoke to what really lay in his thoughts.

Victor matched the smile with a widened one of his own, letting the stretch of happiness on his lips carry the silent conversation as they made their way to the center of the arena.

The concrete trembled beneath his shoes, two beats then a pause, a clap, then starting again. It thumped through his soul at every step, vibrating along his spine. The arena was only lit in the center, concealing the crowd in a cloud of shadows, their heads mountain tops that screamed and hollered. From around the other side, Victor could hear the steady rattling of the cage from fists pounding as hard as his heart.

“They said they’ll be doing something different with the final event,” Phichit explained with a bounce in his step.

“Oh really?” Victor wondered about all the possibilities as they wove through clusters of people, their shadowed visages now slightly illuminated. The glimmering eyes and cackling mouths of those awaiting the start of the match all mirrored one another when Victor caught a glimpse in passing. He fidgeted with the ends of his jacket, straightening it until it brushed the tips of his belt loops. Fewer and fewer people around them had fashioned themselves in what Yuri had deemed “old man” attire, but the bright neon shirts and jackets reflected off the lights, glowing subtly as they mixed with blacks and mismatched prints.

In front of him, Chris slurped on his straw, letting his long lashes flutter at Phichit while he wrapped his lips around the plastic, bobbing his head up and down lasciviously. With a slight shove, Phichit shook his head, giggling as he turned back around. The screeching skid of a rubber sole on concrete came to an abrupt stop and nearly hurled each of them over the other. Phichit gasped and Chris choked, spitting his drink out until it fell in a puddle in front of them. Victor cocked his head, glancing over to the now visible center of the stage, and coughed.

 _Poles._ Three thick steel poles stood erect, equidistant, the light casting shadows so long they fell over and merged with the crowd. If it had been anything else, Victor might have shared Chris and Phichit’s gobsmacked looks, but the more he stared, the wider he smiled. Poles. Nothing hanging, or splintering, no axes or the numerous sharpened devices Victor imagined as he thought through the potential possibilities. This, they could work with. Victor already knew what Yuuri could do with a pole.

“Five minutes until the final event! All betting closes in two!”

“Ah, Victor. I should get back.” Yuuri’s hand betrayed him as it squeezed Victor’s, and he turned it, threading their fingers together. He let himself linger a moment but there was no time for all the words he wanted to speak, so Victor squeezed back, letting their fingers press together in the kiss they couldn’t yet have. The next time he kissed Yuuri wouldn’t be in a rash moment, but one in which they could breathe, with everything laid bare.

They turned to find a pair of green eyes seized in rancor glaring back at them. “Out of my way, pig.” Yuri exclaimed, his voice a blade intent to kill, or at least maim. Against the light, he nearly twinkled, his previous outfit replaced with a white jacket, the silver digging lines like veins throughout, bleeding into the thin white shirt beneath. Victor beamed with delight, looking to Yuuri as they nearly cheered, their happiness a sting to Yuri that Victor hoped would stay and burrow under his skin. By the look of the sneer and growl between gritted teeth as Yuri shrugged off, his jacket spinning into the light, the shimmer of silver etched in the back spanning soft and ethereal, it may have worked.

 _This is his true fighting form,_ Victor thought as Yuuri followed behind, catching one more look in the deep wells of his brown eyes before he turned away. They each boasted a different type of competitive style, almost in stark contrast to one another, and Victor couldn’t help but think of all of the different fighters, and much more different androids in general, he had come to see since coming to Detroit. If anything Yuuko had said rang true, they were all as different as snowflakes, and as delicate, too.

Another blast of the horn and a spotlight shone in the center of the rink. “Ladies, men, and gentledroids!” The announcer flung his hand out, temptingly twiddling his fingers while he smirked. His bowtie flashed in the light as he spun around, flirting with the other side of the crowd. “The moment I believe we have all been waiting for…” he raised his arm and chin to the heavens, pausing before resuming his rasping dramatics, “…the FINAL EVENT!!!”

Immediately, the crowd erupted into crackling waves of hollers and cheers, the yells punctuated by the clanging metal of the fence. The announcer held silent for one more beat, lowering his arm as the noise of the crowd died to a few outliers still clapping. He let his smile curl with his mustache as he began again. “Unsurprisingly, last year’s champion, and the year before, and well, a lot of years actually…Yuri Plisetsky is in the final!” He waited through another uproar of applause. “And so I ask, players, can anyone dethrone the king of the circuit?” Echoing opposites of cheers and boos bounced back and forth, neither overriding the other, until boredom wore over the announcer’s face and he hushed them with a wave, “Alright, alright! I hope you chose your bets wisely, then!” he teased before cocking his head in the direction of the soundboard. Otabek nodded, placing a hand to his earphone as the announcer began to back away. “Now, DJ Otabek, turn up that music!” he said before disappearing into the darkness behind him.

Pulsating strings ran in line with the screech of the opening gates, the choir chanting along with the roars of the audience as the skaters blazed out. No time for introduction, no time for dazzling performances. They zoomed out, lights whirling around as they shot off in different directions. It was fast, faster than any of the other competitions, and the scent of scorched oil hit Victor before he even saw the first player on the floor, neck lopsided from a cut as it sparked, hitting the ground and streaming like a fountain just inside the gate.

 _It’s not Yuuri._ He let out a quick breath and felt his teeth scraped against his finger. Oh, he’d been biting his hand. He hadn’t noticed. One by one, players jumped over the limp body blocking the gate, flowing into the center of the arena. There are only twenty, but the movement made it seem like hundreds of doppelgangers, and none of them were Yuuri. They moved, ducked, jumped, all the while picking off others. A girl, then a boy, then a pair tangled in each other. None of them had even made it to the poles yet, too busy grasping at straws and falling mere centimeters from them.

And then he was there. The angel of darkness dressed in white, reaching for the center pole, latching on and pulling himself up, his slight body like paper floating in the wind. Another tried to grab at him, but he kicked out. The hard light sliced into the metal skeleton, sounding like a saw blade as it cut up the torso, and the player slumped to the concrete, a fault line spewing sparks from his head to his midriff.

“Any other takers?!?!?” Yuri challenged as he twirled, one leg wrapped around the pole as he hung loosely from one arm, the other pointed like a gun at the heads of anyone nearby.

Someone flew into the air, a dash of light brown, and Victor recognized Emil before his head bounced against the furthest pole, falling down to the ground with a thud. The strings over the speakers increased, and with a blast, dark blue sleeves caught in the light as two more players fell straight down like pins. Yuuri emerged, whizzing by as another skater gave a wolfish grin behind him. He gained ground, bending on his knees as he reached out and grabbed Yuuri around the waist. He spun Yuuri, flashes of the phoenix taking flight over and over through the twirls.

True, Yuuri was moving fast, but not fast enough that Victor couldn’t notice his long, thin fingers extending outward, curling around silver steel. With a calculated thrust, Yuuri controlled the spin. He curled into himself, thighs flexing as he kicked forward with all the force the momentum gave him, the other player crashing into the fence before tumbling backwards, rolling over himself until he landed on the ground under Yuuri’s feet.

Victor nearly jumped out of his skin as Yuuri readjusted, one fluid movement of grace as he clamped the pole between his thighs, spinning far out of reach of the other players. The announcer cut through the song with, “The final ten remain!!!”

Yuri dropped down on top of another skater. Gripping his thighs around the other’s neck, Yuri reached down. With a snap, the man’s head twisted, and he dropped to the floor. Yuri hopped off him as he would an escalator, sliding out to seek his next victim.

He was a blur of shimmering white light. One player fell at his feet, sliding down so fast Victor couldn’t even process what led to the fall as his eyes drifted between Yuuri, flipping from one side of the pole to the other, and Yuri’s claws reaching out to the players on the ground, thrashing them to the concrete with on pull. But Victor could see where Yuri’s eyes were fixed. He wasn’t watching the blonde strands in his hand or the skater they belonged to; he was watching Yuuri.

Unfortunately, so was Yuri’s next victim. The girl stared up, wide eyed, at Yuuri as he pulled his leg upward, stretching it behind the pole and arching his back until his toes nearly touched his forehead. At that moment, Yuri snatched the back of her head, throwing her into the pole. It rang hollowly, metal banging against metal as she drooped forward, sliding against the bar until she was a puddle of steel and silicone.

One more clang of metal on the other side, and two set off against the other two. Arms locked, metal and mesh intertwining, heads bashing against the other as they battled to outclass the other on force alone. Victor scoffed. There was nothing artistic in their show of strength. It contained not even an ounce of the beauty Yuuri held as he flipped over himself, gripping the pole to pull himself even higher.

A boom echoed, shaking the ground. In one movement, all four of the androids toppled over one another, caving into themselves. Victor’s eyes darted back over to Yuri, who spun on one leg, the other extended. Like a boomerang, the hard light of his blade had spun around, slicing the backs of the players’ necks before returning to Yuri’s foot with a clink. Yuri threw his hands to the side as he kicked off, discarding his jacket as he turned, eyes back to where they’d been glued nearly the entire round. The only other player in the arena still standing, Yuuri bent his torso backwards, rolling his hips with the beat. Yuri surged forward like a bull, shooting out to grab the pole. The metal clanged as he ascended, one arm reaching over the other as he closed the gap, blond strands streaming wildly behind him.

And then everything stopped. Yuri held frozen, eyes wide and mouth gaping. Nothing but silence remained.

“The song ended.” Phichit held his hands in front of him, wringing them in an uncharacteristic show of nerves.

Victor’s eyes slid reluctantly from the pole to Phichit. “What does that mean?”

Phichit gulped. “Sudden Death.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh! We are so close to the end of this first part!  
> Thank you so much for sticking with me through this! Every comment is an absolute treasure. 
> 
> If you've missed it, Chapters 6 and 10 now have amazing art done my husband, [Coffee](https://twitter.com/stronger_coffee)  
> Annnd, now Chapter 5 will have fantastic pole dancing Yuuri done by [RainySora](https://twitter.com/rainysorarts)
> 
> You can see pole dancing Yuuri in Chapter 5 or click here: [Yuuri at the Eatery](https://twitter.com/tutsibootsi/status/1270838829306515458?s=20)
> 
> A huge thank you to [faeriefirefly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/faeriefirefly/pseuds/faeriefirefly) for betaing!
> 
> If you want a sneak peek at the upcoming chapters, follow the link to the playlist!  
> Synthetic Playlist  
> [Songs of the Chapter](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLN7W9U2jU8ohf0qWJ2EmN94fXbFZOCK02)  
> [Discord 18OI](https://discord.gg/TYMxcAB)
> 
> If you’d like to follow me for updates on Twitter or Tumblr, please click below!  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/tutsibootsi)  
> [Tumblr](https://tutsibug.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Until next time!!!  
> XXXTutti


	14. Sudden Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the song ends in a tie, Yuri and Yuuri face off each other in sudden death. Victor feels like he is dying himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music for the Chapter  
> Sudden Death Song:  
> [Give it to dem ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NA1PlYnUvpE)  
> Victor “I’d rather fuck a robot” Nikiforov  
> [ Fell in Love with an Android](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3x7aq7_CxjQ)

Chapter 14

Sudden Death

The entire arena faded into static. In his ears, his eyes, his mouth, everything turned to white noise, filtered through fuzzy black and white images. He couldn’t hear anything beyond the crackling mesh bleeding out of his ears, couldn’t see anything but blurred images. His jaw was locked, mouth unable to form any coherent statement. He couldn’t even think. He tried blinking, refocusing, but nothing drowned out the sheer, deafening noise of his panic.

“Ladies, sirs, and gentle-droids.” The announcer’s voice swept through the speakers, low and all encompassing, knocking through the hissing noise and giving Victor an anchor on which to cling, to pull himself from the depths with. He could finally make sense of the awed silence, the congregated crowd waiting for the sermon to unfold. “You are now witnessing, for the first time since Yuri Plisetsky’s winning streak, a Sudden Death Match! Players, take your spot on either side of the rink!”

_“Oh wow!”_

_“Kill him, Yuri!”_

_“Yeah, get him!!!”_

_“He’ll blow his head off for sure!”_

_“The last time this happened, Yuri bit the power switch out of his neck!”_

Victor couldn’t see the faces behind the voices, every murmur, whisper, and shout pricking his spine with a foreign, crippling terror. Yuri unclutched his fingers from the pole, dropping down in one fluid motion. The crowd rejoiced with booming claps and screeching praises. He lifted a thumb into the air, his face a stone wall with straight-laced lips as he glided across the concrete. He jerked around sharply, planting his foot down against the hard ground. Green eyes narrowed, centered, took on a predatory focus. He watched his prey dangle from the pole, Yuuri rolling in languid circles as he lowered himself down.

Yuuri looked perplexed but steady. Victor unclenched his jaw, exhaling as he watched the blue light spin over and over, Yuuri gliding to the other side. He spun softly but Victor caught the determined glint sparkling in his eyes. Yuuri wasn’t giving up.

“‘What’s new with this match,’ you ask?” the announcer goaded, butter smooth even as he paused a beat. “Everything goes! No holds barred! There are no rules!” A new wave of cries mocked what Victor assumed to be a cacophony of cheers 

“No rules?” Victor’s question came out as awed as it was bitter. He folded his arms over himself, suddenly shivering for warmth even in the wet July heat.

“Just the one for who wins.” Phichit nodded. He fidgeted with his jack sleeve; eyes still fixed on the arena. “First one down wins, even if they have to rip out their power button to get there.”

“Give them a show, boys! Now, Otabek, start up a new song!!!!!”

Once again, Otabek’s fingers pressed against the knob on the soundboard. Victor watched Otabek’s face, his lips drawn taut, the darkness of his brown eyes centered on the blonde hair waving in front of him. If Otabek could hold his breath, he would have been. Victor couldn’t decide if that made him feel better or worse. Otabek looked at Yuri the way Victor looked at his Yuuri: terrified.

The urgent screams of the crowd drowned out the first few notes of fast paced, rhythmic bass. Neither player moved. Yuri waited, his face still raring for decimation, eyes slanted and brows knitted as he kicked off. He didn’t turn to Yuuri, though; he turned to the crowd, ushering a new wave of applause as he pumped his fist in the air, punctuating the hit of the snare. Then he whipped back around, a blaze of silver and white firing toward Yuuri.

Dark and light, light and dark. Yuuri’s black hair and dark blue clothes contrasted Yuuri’s blond and white, both sparkling, blurry blobs. They wound around the poles, back and forth like a child’s game on speed. _This isn’t tag_ , Victor reminded himself. If Yuri caught Yuuri, what would he do? He’d promised not to shoot him, but that didn’t mean anything now. Yuri had a win in sight. Could Victor trust a program to keep a promise?

Yuuri gripped the pole, swinging an arm and leg sticking out. He knocked into Yuri hard and fast. For the first time, Yuri sprang forward, off balance, smacking into the cage on the other side of the arena. The cage jangled, vibrations reverberating until a thin metal bar pinged Victor’s nose. On the other side, Yuri shook himself, his shock turning to rage. He cursed, loud enough to hear over the music beating in the background. Meanwhile, Yuuri coasted to the far side of the arena, drawing long, languid circles with his leg with his hands held flat against the other pole. Yuri’s nostrils flared, and Victor could imagine plumes of smoke puffing out as he lunged forward, once again toward Yuuri. He missed, Yuuri dodging in the nick of time, lifting his legs over his head and rolling to grip the metal firmly between them. Yuri ducked beneath, a sly smile creeping over his face as he swung his arms out.

Wait, it was a fake out? Yuri never meant to grip Yuuri from behind, Victor was certain. He watched Yuri climb up the pole next to him, not nearly as graceful as Yuuri but with a beauty of his own. All the jagged movements transitioned together into controlled chaos twirling on the pole. Yuri spun, one, two, three times, raising his hand higher and higher with each spin until his fingers threaded through the black tufts of hair on Yuuri’s tilted-back head. Yuri’s hand balled into a fist, snatching Yuuri’s hair with it.

He dragged him down by his hair, sliding down the pole with a squeak. They landed straight on the concrete and Yuri wasted no time before swinging. _Boom!_ He landed a punch square on Yuuri’s jaw. Yuuri’s head twisted to the side while he stumbled over his feet. He didn’t fall, spinning back around with a clenched fist. Yuuri swung hard, smashing against Yuri’s cheek without abandon. Yuri wobbled but barely missed a beat before he wound his arm back for the next throw. It hit air, leaving Yuri stunned. He spun over himself, nearly toppling. He kicked out his back leg, balancing himself. He snapped, stomping the concrete. It cracked under the pressure, splintering out.

“YOU FUCKING PIG! I’LL KILL YOU!” Yuri’s threat spewed out over the music, which was reaching its crescendo, all hard beats and synthesized brass. White lights spun so fast they looked like laser beams as Yuri dislodged his foot, catching the shadow in the light. Yuuri sped forward, bending in an attempt to evade. He missed, and Yuri latched on, arms locking over Yuuri’s shoulder. He attempted to throw him, but Yuuri resisted, wrapping his arms back around Yuri’s shoulder and hopping into the turn. They went round for round, one hop over the other the entire length of the arena.

In one swift motion, Yuri brough his knee up, crushing into Yuuri’s torso. Yuuri crouched over, catching himself with a slight bend of his legs. They were fast, too fast to catch everything—Victor’s eyes roved over the scene in a frenzy. Yuri gritted his teeth, cursing as he flung his arm out, hand cocked in the shape of a gun. His arm straightened, finger pointed flush against Yuuri’s skull. Shaking, he pulled his thumb back, one trigger away from the mechanism opening. No, it couldn’t be. Yuri wouldn’t do that. Victor had to get over there. It didn’t matter who won; no one needed to win like this. He scrambled to turn, keeping his eyes on Yuuri. The finger pressing against Yuuri’s scalp forced him to lower, down, down, down.

And then it happened. Yuuri swept out his leg, catching Yuri by the ankles. Yuri’s legs flew out from under him, arm raised in the air. He squeezed his thumb as he fell, the bullet shooting skyward. Yuuri hit the ground on his back just a breath before Yuri landed at his side, arm and leg sprawled out over him.

Victor raised his arms in the air in victory. Both were alive, lying on the ground but intact. Astonishment rested heavy in his chest, eyes brimming with tears. He couldn’t think past his emotions, each a wave rolling one over the other in Victor’s heart. He was relieved, amazed, happy, and most of all, in love.

“By a fraction of a second, ladies and gentle droids, this year’s winner is Yuri Plisetsky!” The announcer stepped into the light as he spoke, one hand adjusting his bowtie while the other wrapped around the microphone. The response from the crowd faded from shock to enthusiasm, praises and claps reaching decibels Victor had only heard after his first Grand Prix Final gold, the type of applause drenched with surprise, and Yuuri had once again been the cause of it.

Inching up one bend of his metal vertebrae at a time, Yuri rolled himself to a sitting position, then leveraged himself up with his legs. The light silvered his blonde hair, washing out the yellow as he rose, almost angelic, lifting his fist in the air in victory. Myriad upon myriad voices echoed throughout the arena, shouting their winnings over the fencing and into the chilled night air. There wasn’t any question as to who won, but Victor couldn’t help the smile that reached his eyes as he watched Yuuri prop himself up on his elbows, brown eyes alive and alight with happiness.

Yuri stuck his hand out, leaning down toward Yuuri. It was not the indignant viciousness that Victor expected from Yuri, but a sincere gesture. Yuuri let Yuri help him to his feet, hands patting against his pants to brush off the scuffs of dirt. Yuri said something inaudible, and Victor stood in place, feeling like Makkachin at the door before a walk. He wanted to get near Yuuri, to wrap him in his arms and never let him go.

What a silly thing, really. Perhaps the silliest thing Victor had ever thought. He’d spent years entrenched in surprising the crowds, becoming a champion, a hero. Yet, looking through the spokes of the fence at Yuuri’s soft face, nodding in respect as the announcer declared Yuri the winner once more, Victor had never felt more fulfilled, more whole as a person. _I needed something synthetic to feel real._ He laughed to himself, shaking his head at his own absurdity.

Something hard nudged Victor’s arm, denim scarping against vinyl. He glanced over to see Chris elbowing him, tilting his head with a flirtatious grin as he explained, “We’re going to collect our winnings.”

“You bet against Yuuri?” Victor crinkled his brow.

“Yuuri still won. Look!” Phichit pointed to his screen. The scroll pulled Yuuri’s picture up at the top of the list, his stats running along the side.

Model: Eros.

Type: Synthetic.

Assembly Completed: 11/29/2044.

Last Updated: 07/17/2049.

Yuuri’s specs ran parallel to his picture, his eyes warm but unsure looking back at Victor. Phichit tilted the screen closer. “See? He won the popular vote!”

“Wow!” Victor stifled his gasp with a hand over his mouth. If his eyes could spell out his amazement, he was sure they would simply by how much he could feel them sparkling. Phichit and Chris joined the scuffing tread of the throng heading to the collection booth, dissipating into the background as he turned to refocus on Yuuri.

Through the gates, he watched Yuuri roll to the exit. The bolts of the fallen were all but swept away before the sudden death round, relocated to the very outskirts of the arena. A few people shuffled in, picking up the pieces. But Victor wouldn’t need to. Any moment now, Yuuri would appear through the curtain separating the players from the spectators.

The thin black veil parted, and Yuuri emerged, hands slicking back his hair. “I didn’t win, but…” He trailed off, but for the first time, Victor could see that Yuuri felt a true sense of accomplishment. It was subdued, but with a brilliance that Yuuri wore all his own.

“I don’t feel like kissing you if you didn’t win.” Victor cocked his head as he spoke, smiling mischievously as he stepped closer until he was at Yuuri’s ear. He tried to withhold the growl in his voice as he continued, “I feel like doing a lot more.” The heat of Yuuri’s flush radiated against his cheek. How could his silicone skin feel so warm?

“Yuuri! They’re having an after party!” Phichit’s voice rang out with cheer as he waved his arm wildly back and forth. Chris followed, resting his hand at the crest of Phichit’s hip.

“Oh, uhmm— I—” Yuuri sputtered for an excuse.

Nothing in Phichit’s eyeroll gave any indication he was satisfied with that answer. He grabbed Yuuri’s forearms, pulling him along as he skipped in a circle. “C’mon Yuuri, take me!!!” he pleaded, demanded, when he stopped.

“Do you want to go?” Yuuri turned back around as he asked.

“I wouldn’t mind if you—” Victor began, but was unable to finish.

“Fine, it’s settled!” Chris shoved Victor forward. “We’re going!”

As they filed out of the arena, Victor took one more look at the empty shell of the place. All the glamour of before had withered down to shambles, concrete and wire, lights flickering off and on at the end of a power surge. Rust flaked off the metal post of the exit, Victor watching it twirl in the wind until it landed on the shoulder of the person in front of him. Red dust bounced from the shoulder and tumbled down to rest on the shoe beneath, obstructing the shine from the lamp above. He smiled, his eyes winding up the thin but delicate lines of the jeans, up the seams that hugged the butt but were never constricting enough to keep it from bouncing, up to the hem of the white button-up that fluttered, teasingly revealing a hint of skin, and finally, up the curve of the spine until his eyes rested on the delicate shoulders that could hold Victor’s entire world. Yuuri looked exquisite now, changed from his outfit and into the clothes Victor had chucked in their bag before heading over.

“You’re hopeless, you know?” Chris offered the bag he held, rustling as he shook it outward.

“Chris!” he mockingly gasped, accepting the bag. He fingered through the different morsels, grabbing a bite and popping it into his mouth. A light flashed, and Victor blinked through the first crunch of thesweet and salty snack mix Chris gave him. Beyond them, Phichit’s giggle bounced as he showed Yuuri something on his phone. Victor smiled at the source of the flash; he needed to make a mental note to get that picture from Phichit.

The street emptied quickly, people hopping into the vehicles lining the curb. They weren’t the clean cabs of the city, spewing black smoke into the air, but Victor knew most of the droids wouldn’t pass the initial checks. Mountains of high-rise buildings lined the streets, the slight discoloration from bottom to top showing where the rebuild took place. Victor had never stopped to notice before, but in the glow of the light, it was obvious. The ugliness of war stamped out much of the former beauty of the architecture, but there was still something lovely in the cracked lines of the stone. It was haunted but still stood strong.

They turned on Phichit’s wave, the towering buildings fading into the darkness behind them. The lessening of lights lining the way told Victor they were moving out of the human world and into the synthetic. A few minutes passed in silence, Victor watching as Chris stared into the bobbing reflection of the city’s lights along the river. First Yuuri appeared along the current, then Phichit. Chris’s jaw tightened as he finally spoke. “I accept this world, Victor. Do you?”

What did he know of this world? Chris came and went as he pleased, no more than a leaf blowing in the wind. Chris knew the outline; the function and what it stood for, and what would happen if a Synthetic went against that function. But Chris didn’t know all the greys that shaded in the whole world. He didn’t know after the show, the smile that creased lines on Yuuri’s face. Or how Mila always kept bolts in her pocket incase someone needed a tune up but couldn’t go to SHIP. 

Victor didn’t want to crash the high of today, still savoring the tingle of Yuuri’s lips. He opted for a cheeky smile, the same friendly tone he’d greet fans with. “Of course!” His voice was lightly pointed but accented enough to indicate his intent. Victor knew what he wanted, and no one in heaven or hell or on earth was stopping him anymore.

Chris wavered, pouring the remaining bits in the bag into his palm. He chewed slowly, as if soaking in the last remaining calm before the storm, then swallowed, much thicker than necessary, “It’s not like you…”

“I’ve made my choice, Chris.” There wasn’t any use denying it, certainly not to Chris. It felt nice to say out loud.

There was a rustle in the trash piled at the side of the alleyway. Victor craned his head, searching for the source of the sound. He waited a few beats before shaking his head. _Must’ve been an animal._

“Is it yours to make?” Chris asked.

Victor didn’t get a chance to answer. Out of the darkness, something sprang toward them. A dark figure arms dug its arms into Victor’s back, pulling him into the alley.

“Synthetic. Gimme,” the thing slurred as it scrabbled at his leg. His artificial leg, to be precise.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Victor barked. The thing sounded human, at least mostly. He pulled his phone out, tapping the screen, illuminating the area. Under the blue light, a thin nose poked out from a tangled mess of hair. A man, Victor presumed, but in his near emaciated state, he looked more like a ghost than a human.

Before Victor knew it, the man pounced again. They toppled to the ground and the man climbed atop Victor, pinning him by his wrists. He stared down and Victor saw the ravenous look on his face in the light of the phone that had landed on his chest. “You smell like one.” The man’s glossy eyes watered as he sniffed the air. “I can smell it. You’re one of ‘em.”

“No. I-I’m human!” Victor tried to explain. He didn’t want to use force, not when it looked like one push could snap a bone.

The man hissed, shaking his head, matted black hair whipping against his chin. “No! Just give me a taste. One hit. I won’t take everything…I swear. Just lend me some of your Synthetic!”

Any understanding to be found in the man’s plea was drowned out by the word Synthetic. Victor pushed up against the hands pinning his wrists to the ground. “You can’t have Yuuri!” He threw his arms with enough strength that the body rolled backwards.

“Yuuri?” The man brought his hands together, nibbling on the ends of his fingers as if they were tiny pieces of cheese and he a mouse.

“Victor!” Yuuri’s stood at the edge of the alleyway, his voice sharpened with enough worry to cut. As swift as he’d been in the arena, Yuuri rushed to Victor’s side, followed by Chris and Phichit at a slower pace. Yuuri pushed the man away, shouting, “Leave him alone!”

Fright gripped the man and his eyes darted back and forth between Yuuri and Victor. He muttered, falling backward and crab-crawling to and then up the opposite wall. “They smell and look different, but they’re the same. FREAKS!” The man shouted the last word as he ran back into the darkness.

Yuuri knelt, cupping Victor’s cheek, still trembling. “Are you okay?”

He nodded, nuzzling into Yuuri’s palm gently before trying to stand. Rising to his full height, Victor brushed the dirt off his pants. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just—what was that?”

“A junkie,” Phichit answered. Victor stared into the black alleyway. He’d heard about junkies before, but hearing about them and coming in contact with one were as different as reading about a boat and traversing the sea. Phichit smiled reassuringly, “That man looked about the worse I’ve ever seen. They try to pick off Synthetics, drain them of their serum. It’s scary.”

Victor never felt the iron grip of fear so surely as he had throughout today. A single shiver ran down his spine, his calming heart begging to pulse quickly once more. All the room between them spooled into an uneasy silence. Only the scratching from Yuuri kicking the ground made any sound. Victor looked from Phichit to Yuuri, the image of their bodies bound and head cut open like a tin can enough to become a weekly showing on his nightmare reel. 

Chris met his eyes, staring at them like he was viewing the images in Victor’s mind. Through the quiet, he broke into a deep, hearty laugh. "All the more reason to dance your cares away?” Chris slung his arm over Victor, his sly grin returning.

“Yes!” Victor snaked his arm around Yuuri’s waist, drawing him to his side. Hefelt his heart race, but for an entirely different reason this time. His throbbing heart was pumping love and not fear this time. “Yuuri let’s go dancing!”

***

The fog crawling from the machines cloaked most of the scene in the club. Victor rubbed his drying eyes, tilting back his glass for one more sip of the pink concoction Chris had ordered. He ardently longed to forget the words hissed at him less than an hour before. _Freak._ How did he know? What could he detect from Victor’s leg that made him smell more droid than human?

Victor didn’t want to sulk, though. Not when Yuuri was across the table, cherry cheeked and giggling at something Phichit said. Every beam of light streaming to the rhythm of the song flashed over Yuuri, illuminating something new and beautiful each time. The blue highlighting his cheekbones, the yellow catching his glimmering brown eyes, the pink meshing with his flush.

“C’mon, Yuuri. Drink this with me. The bartender said it was perfect for Synthetics!” Phichit chimed with a giggle, pushing the tall, thin glass toward Yuuri.

“Ahh…fine! But it better not be like last time!”

“No glitches! I swear!”

“Ohh, what happened last time?”

“Well, alcohol works like an accelerant for Synthetics. Drink too much and—”

“I’m an Eros! I don’t need that.” Yuuri dipped his head back, downing the entire drink in one swig. He swung his leg high over the table, all the grace of a ballerina with fire beneath their toes. His brows knitted together as he stood, stomped over to Victor, and grabbed his hand. “Dance with me!”

“Oh fun, time to dance!!!” Phichit cheered, pulling Chris to follow behind them. They dashed through the crowd, meandering from once group to the next in search of floor space. Checkered lights danced in squares beneath them, highlighting neon hues from one to the next. For a moment, Victor reminisced about the night he found Yuuri at the Eatery, how the blue checkered flooring there matched Yuuri’s skin perfectly while he danced. Before long, Chris and Phichit were lost in the music, jumping and spinning to the beat, hands running over each other but never quite touching.

“Isn’t this fun?” Victor heard someone behind him ask. He turned to see Sara mid-laugh, head tilted back as her hips swayed back and forth to the music. She waved and Victor nodded politely.

“Yeah, yeah,” Mickey huffed behind them, his head betraying him as it bobbed to the catchy beat of the music.

“Mickey! Don’t you like this beat? Huh, Mickey?” Emil pumped his fist in the air behind Mickey.

Mila danced closer, moving until she could lean in to speak against Victor’s ear. “Sometime, not here, we should talk. I’d like to show you something.” She laughed into her last word, offsetting her serious tone and turning back to Sara. She lifted her arm, twirling Sara around before bringing her back, letting the rhythm move them farther and farther away.

The song ended and another began. Victor couldn’t help but drift to the lights emanating from the soundboard. There, like kings on high, Yuri and Otabek reigned over the crowd. Yuri leaned against the deck, elbows perched on the end while he tilted his head back. His eyes never left Otabek’s face, his hand lifting to brush away a stray hair. His leopard coat hung from his elbows as he stood up, turning to steal a kiss before sauntering away.

Yuri was never tailor made for Lilia; Victor realized that now. What else was the SHIP hiding within its high stone walls? Yuuri twirled, grinding backwards until his plump met maddeningly close to where Victor wished it would land. He pulled himself together, matching the movement of his hips to Yuuri. Maybe now wasn’t the time to speculate about Yuri, or the institute. Not when he had what he wanted rubbing friction against him to the rhythm of the drums.

He could eat all the drunken shrimp in Shanghai and not feel as intoxicated as having Yuuri so near. He ghosted his hands over the curves of Yuuri’s side, his waist. Every beat brought them closer, Victor matching the rolls of Yuuri’s hips, each grind back and forth leaving an ache behind the pieces of fabric blocking direct contact. Yuuri reached his hands up, intertwining his fingers across the back of Victor’s neck as he craned his head backward, black hair spilling over Victor’s chest as Yuuri looked up at him. They stayed that way for a moment, rocking their bodies to the beat while everything faded to their eyes alone.

Another song ended and a more upbeat tune began. Throbbing pulses of the bass beat low and sensuous. Yuuri bent his head low and spun around, lost in the rhythm of the moment. His hips swayed like he was the drum, banging round and strong, his arms the guitar strings winding above his head and teasing around his face. His dancing was the thing that drew Victor to Yuuri the first day they met. Yuuri spun golden notes in his veins and poured them out in a rhythm all his own.

Victor could forget here, in the blaring music, about the heart beneath Yuuri’s earlobe. He could forget that the sweat clinging to the back of his shirt wasn’t dripping down Yuuri’s spine, too, and that the room should have been warmer than it was with the heat of all the bodies packed in the place. It was easy to lose himself to the beat thrumming up his spine and forget that Yuuri’s was formed in a lab and not a womb. There was nothing synthetic in the motions of dancing, everyone pulled in by the same song. He could forget function had ever existed, forget the police officer at the river and the man in the alley. None of that was real in that moment. Yuuri was his only truth.

“Having fun?” Victor managed to choke out, rougher and more aroused than he’d intended. He supposed that was the price of having something like Yuuri so sinfully close. He gave into it, grinning widely as he watched Yuuri nod and step back to Victor, wiggling his hips and gifting Victor with the sweetest laugh he’d ever heard.

Yuuri’s eyes shone, drenched in desire as he wrapped his arms loosely around his neck. “Victor…Victor…need you…”

“Okay,” Victor soothed. “When we get home.’

“No.” Yuuri ground his hips against Victor as he pouted. “Now.”

“Now?”

“You said to tell you when I wanted to. I want to, now.”

Venom for Free made this amazing art of Yuri and Otabek from this chapter!!!! Link to Venom's twitter: [Venom's Twitter](https://twitter.com/venom_for_free)  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter remains for part 1!!!  
> Ready for some smut?  
> It's only been 84 years. ;)  
> Thank you guys for sticking with me and this story!  
> I'm debating whether to run all parts as one story or to split the parts into three stories of a series.  
> I'd love to know any of your thoughts in the comments! :)
> 
> A huge thank you to [faeriefirefly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/faeriefirefly/pseuds/faeriefirefly) for betaing!
> 
> If you want a sneak peek at the upcoming chapters, follow the link to the playlist!  
> Synthetic Playlist  
> [Songs of the Chapter](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLN7W9U2jU8ohf0qWJ2EmN94fXbFZOCK02)  
> [Discord 18OI](https://discord.gg/TYMxcAB)
> 
> If you’d like to follow me for updates on Twitter or Tumblr, please click below!  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/tutsibootsi)  
> [Tumblr](https://tutsibug.tumblr.com/)


	15. Synthetic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor has found his life and love. It's Synthetic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter especially, listening to the songs will give you the full impact of the end. 
> 
> Music for the Chapter  
> Sing in the Club:  
> [Storm the Gates ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xGKTcrqVC_M)  
> Yuuri’s Love Song  
> [8-bit Heart](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=52jRcRWzQ_k)

Synthetic

The music thrumming in the background couldn’t beat as hard or as fast as Victor’s heart. Yuuri’s words circulated through his mind like a swan shaped cloud, pirouetting on pointe until it dissipated along with the fog. He wanted Victor. He really wanted Victor.

“Nnnn…Bictoru…” Yuuri rutted up against him, the hardness of his length sliding against Victor’s ever-growing arousal. What did Yuuri just call him? He’d mark that in the book of the most adorable things to ever come out of Yuuri’s mouth.

It wasn’t exactly the dripping candlelight and silken sheets of his imagination, but Victor couldn’t deny the desire he’d kept tucked away for the past months unraveling with every grind. His eyes flitted around the room, searching for somewhere secluded, any dark, unnoticed corner to drag Yuuri into and sink into the warmth of his touch.

“Bic-Vic-Bic…” Yuuri stuttered over the name, blinking as his smile widened. “They have rooms here…”

“Rooms?” Victor quirked his brow.

“Mhm…private rooms…” Yuuri sloshed over the words, a delight awakening in his glittering eyes. Oh. _Oh!_ The light finally blinked on Victor’s mind, and he grabbed Yuuri’s hand reflexively, feeling the twist of their fingers as Yuuri laced them together.

“Where are they?” he leaned down to whisper, his voice low, the hunger tinting every word with urgency. Nodding to the other end of the club, Yuuri took the lead, towing a happily willing Victor behind as they wove through the dancers. Victor patted the back of his neck, wiping away the sweat that dewed over his skin as they tunneled through the crowd.

The other side sent Victor shivering as cool air wafted from the conditioner, bringing even more gooseflesh pimpling on his skin than the anticipatory excitement of a moment ago. Thin strips of lights lining the wall only emitted enough of a glow for Victor to make out the outline of someone sitting on a tall chair. Yuuri spoke, something Victor couldn’t make out, and the outline grunted, the blob moving, acknowledging as it reached down, the sound of metal sliding against metal alerting Victor of something moving.

Before he knew it, they were behind a curtain, Yuuri tugging him down a narrow hallway. The lightbulbs flickered above, fading to black and then shining back to harsh white beams that reminded Victor of places he did not want to think about. Not when Yuuri’s fingers intertwined with his so beautifully, his cock swollen and aching before they had even shared the whisper of a kiss.

With a click, the door opened, and the bright white was snuffed out by the darkness of the room. The lighting glowed aubergine, tinting everything purple, from the black couch along the farthest wall to the dark tiles on the floor. The room spun royally as Yuuri grabbed his wrist, pressing him back until his shoulders touched the cool door.

“I want you.” The words from earlier today cemented the moment as Yuuri said them again, grabbing Victor’s head and drawing him in until his lips found his own. Kissing Yuuri felt like rain pouring over land parched by drought. The dried cracks of denying himself filled with wetness seeping from each press of his lips. This wasn’t the delicate dance of the first night they met, when the lines of functionality were drawn thin and straight between them. This was the former frenzy from the Arena returning hundredfold as teeth clacked against teeth, Victor once again lifting Yuuri up to hold him under his ass while his legs locked around his waist.

Time mattered little in the moment. Hours, minutes, seconds all ticked by to the sounds of gasps between kisses. Victor raked a hand through the back of Yuuri’s hair, feeling the soft tresses against his fingertips. In a split second, he spun them around until Yuuri was pressed against the wall, his hands sinking into the meat of Yuuri’s thighs while his tongue chased the taste of sweet liquor in Yuuri’s mouth.

“Victor…ngh…need…more…” Yuuri strained to say, knees knocking against Victor. Yuuri pulled back, his lips red and kiss-swollen, fingers playing along the edge of Victor’s jacket until he pushed them beneath. As Yuuri peeled off the jacket, Victor let him down gently. The jacket hit floor at the same time as Yuuri’s feet, with a soft pat against the tile. Then, slowly, Yuuri lowered himself to his knees.

“Yuuri…” Victor’s voice was strangled, breathy but still rough enough to make Yuuri’s eyes roll back as he shook out the kind of deep breath that Victor had to remind himself was fake, just part of the programming. Yuuri popped the button of Victor’s jeans open, unzipping them painfully slowly, fingers brushing against his cock on the cusp of being freed. Victor’s breath hitched on cue, his spine tingling with excitement.

Somewhere in the distance Victor could hear heavy bass, muted by the closed door. The noise fell silent as Yuuri yanked Victor’s jeans down hurriedly, followed by his briefs. His cock sprang free, twitching under Yuuri’s hand.

“Do you like this?” Yuuri looked up curiously as he twisted his hand over the tip, a bead of precome glistening as it dribbled over his finger. If that didn’t serve as enough of an answer, Victor’s bangs flapped as he nodded enthusiastically. All the words he could recall stopped in his throat as Yuuri leaned forward, his kiss bruised lips circling the head of Victor’s cock. Yuuri’s dark lashes curled almost to the top of his brow, his eyes watching Victor’s every reaction. Yuuri’s mouth was so hot and wet as he sucked on the head, his tongue flat along the sensitive underside. Victor could do nothing but come completely undone. Every bob of Yuuri’s head enveloped Victor more and more, drawing him into the pleasure of Eros until he was drowning in it. Yuuri hollowed his cheeks, taking Victor to the hilt in one smooth motion.

“Wow.” Victor’s awe came out between panted breaths. Every twist sent overwhelming sensations rippling throughout Victor. His hips involuntarily bucked into Yuuri’s mouth. He froze. Did he hurt Yuuri? His fingers tangled in Yuuri’s hair as Victor fought the urge to grip and pull tighter, to fuck into his perfect mouth until he spilled down his throat. Yuuri wasn’t a toy, and Victor wasn’t going to treat him like one. Rougher ideas could be discussed later, not in the midst of passion. “Yuuri, we need to st— I’m going to—” Snap. Come. Anything Victor could possibly think of was lost beneath the weight of his cock lying on Yuuri’s tongue.

Yuuri seemed to understand, sliding off his cock with a wet pop. He rose back to his full height, and Victor didn’t waste any time before pulling him once more into an embrace. “I really like kissing you,” Victor admitted between kisses as Yuuri nudged his knee into Victor’s, a silent plea to get to the couch.

“I really like kissing you, too.” A blush blossomed over Yuuri’s face once again. Of all the things he’d learned about Synthetics, Victor found Yuuri’s blush to be the most endearing. It was so singularly unique, in all the ways that made Yuuri _Yuuri_ , and Victor couldn’t help himself from cupping Yuuri’s cheek. His thumb stroked the line of Yuuri’s jaw a few times before he leaned in to place another kiss on his lips, much softer than before. He held there a moment, feeling the rush of excitement swirling in his gut even at a such an innocent gesture, before pulling away and sauntering over to the couch, making sure to give Yuuri a show full ofall his assets. He turned, plopping onto the couch and throwing Yuuri a wink.

This time, Yuuri didn’t waste any time breaching the gap between them, dropping his pants as he rushed forward. He straddled Victor’s hips, pushing the fabric of his shorts over as his hand reached beneath to position Victor’s cock. Victor began to panic, but the dread soon died down as it was met with a slick glide of skin over his cock. Yuuri had told him he was built for this, Victor just had to remember. He exhaled slowly as Yuuri descended farther and farther, inch after inch coiling the knot inside him tight.

“So good…Victor…I’ve wanted this for so long.” Yuuri groaned, dropping his head back in pleasure as he dropped to the hilt. It felt maddeningly good inside Yuuri. Victor reached around to grab the globes of Yuuri’s ass, squeezing and kneading. Yuuri undulated his hips as Victor thrust upward to meet. He felt like he was melting, and as Yuuri sunk down on his cock once more, the red in his eyes flickering, Victor fell apart. The edges of his world dwindled away until every part of him was mapped by Yuuri.

“You’re amazing.” Victor snapped his hips upward as he babbled, earning a guttural cry from Yuuri. “You’re magic. How are you even real?”

Yuuri stilled, his voice firm “I’m not real. I’m Synthetic.”

“Even better.” Victor kissed the tip of his nose, picking the pace up once more. “You feel so good.”

“Really?”

“Yes, you’re so beautiful.”

“I’m n—”

“You are the most beautiful, Yuuri,” he gasped out, eyes rolling back as Yuuri sank down once more. “My Yuuri.” Victor said it again because he could. It was true.

Electricity surged and pulsed throughout his body. Yuuri didn’t ignite his skin, his nerves, he ignited Victor’s very soul. Every lift of his hips thrusting upward into Yuuri met warm, wet tightness that clung around his cock. He’d print every word of beauty and praise in existence on Yuuri’s skin with his lips, on Yuuri’s neck, shoulder, arm, writing _love, love, love_ until he’d filled every page of his mind, body and soul with Yuuri.

The gentle press of Yuuri’s fingers digging into his upper arm spurred him forward. He’d let Yuuri tattoo him with his hands, brand him with the nails scratching and digging at his back, gripping for anything as his climax began to rise hot inside him. God, it was enough. It was more than enough, having him like this, Yuuri’s touch a golden ember lighting his heart with every movement.

Victor was lost in all that was Yuuri, threaded tension winding tighter and tighter as Yuuri bounced up and down. All at once, the knot snapped, his climax shooting into Yuuri, white hot. His body shook, jerking with each new wave as Yuuri rode him through. Suddenly, Yuuri’s body was quaking, his knees knocking against his hips as he arched his back, letting one more moan out before slumping against Victor’s side, spent.

He waited, still as the night, stroking Yuuri’s back as he twitched every so often. Yuuri didn’t flinch away or shriek.

“Is this part of your programming?” Victor finally asked.

“It is now.” Yuuri buried his head in the crook of Victor’s neck. “Take me home.”

***

Outside, rain trickled down the window. Victor pulled a glass from the cabinet, letting the water run cold while he sought a towel. They’d been caught in a downpour on the trek home, though luckily the driver still accepted Victor’s soaked jacket as payment.

The soft padding of bare feet against the floor let Victor know Yuuri was behind him before he even turned around. “Yuuri, do you want something to eat?” he asked, turning off the faucet.

“Mmm…no, I brought you a towel from the bathroom.” Yuuri held out the fluffy white fabric.

“Thank you.” Victor rubbed the towel over his still damp hair, the ends of the fine strands beginning to curl. He paused, looking at Yuuri’s expression. His eyes were that shimmering brown that meant he was searching for something, but they held an easiness he’d never seen before. Seemingly unknowingly, a smile played at the sides of Yuuri’s lips, softening the flat line of anxiousness Victor had come to know. _Tell him you love him_. Victor’s mind shouted, but he held himself back. Later, when they had time to talk, he’d divulge everything. His parents, the doctor, his leg, and his love—he’d confess it all— but for now, he wanted to frame Yuuri’s face and keep the picture on the mantle of his heart’s hearth forever.

A tightness enveloped around him as Yuuri hugged him tightly. “No. Thank you, Victor, for everything.”

Months ago, when he was debating his return to Detroit, he’d rationalized all the reasons why it would be foolish. Yet here, with the gentle brush of Yuuri’s hair tickling his jaw, he couldn’t recall a single one. All of them paled in comparison to the feeling of Yuuri’s arms wrapped around his ribcage. All those nights ago, in the madness of that warehouse, the announcer had been right: fuck the function.

“Victor…I— I have to tell you something…” Yuuri’s voice sounded somewhere outside the bubble of thoughts clouding his mind.

“Victor?” Yuuri tried again to no avail. Victor was still on the distant shores of his mind. He knew they’d have to weather some issues; Yakov certainly would give him more than an earful. But that didn’t matter. He still needed to know what Mila wanted, but that was for another day, They’d make their own way and find a way to live between the world of the humans and the world of Synthetics—

PING

Victor startled, pulled from his thoughts by the brittle, hollow noise. It was only then he noticed the tears streaking Yuuri’s cheeks. He felt a pang in his chest, then the rain couldn’t drown out the sound of his heart pounding. “Yuuri, what was that?”

“Victor, I’m defective.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ….Welp….  
> Part 2 will begin soon!!!  
> Keep an eye on Twitter for an update and snippets!  
> I cannot express my thanks enough for all of you who have continued to stay by my side and read through all the chaos in the world. I truly hope everyone is okay, or as okay as you possibly can be. I promise the slow burn is over and Part 2 is a mile a minute pace with very little slower moments.  
> Until next time!  
> Tutti  
> A huge thank you to [faeriefirefly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/faeriefirefly/pseuds/faeriefirefly) for betaing!
> 
> Also, if you are over the age of 18 and want a place to yell about Yuri on Ice, please join the 18oI discord!  
> [Discord 18OI](https://discord.gg/TYMxcAB)
> 
> If you’d like to follow me for updates on Twitter or Tumblr, please click below!  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/tutsibootsi)  
> [Tumblr](https://tutsibug.tumblr.com/)


	16. Defective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the chip breaks, Yuuri's love pours. 
> 
> But Synthetic's love leaves Yuuri defective.
> 
> For an Eros android, to be declared defective is a death sentence. Upon discovering that Yuuri has become defective, he and Victor both find themselves at greater risk than ever before. SHIP pursues them relentlessly, trying to capture Yuuri and remove any evidence that their products are anything less than perfect, unfeeling servants for humankind. But SHIP is not the only threat; as the two evade their pursuers they discover that there are other forces in the shadows with an interest in chasing them.
> 
> Victor, Yuuri, and their friends find themselves at odds with mysterious enemies on all sides. As they attempt to make their way safely through the broken world before them, can they stay together, clinging to hope? Or will their sin find them out, and bring the shadows of their dying world crashing down upon them?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music for the chapter
> 
> Music for the Chapter  
> [River ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DycottXjONk)  
> [Followers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mbClKkoRsIU)

_“Hey, idiot, do you not get what happens when a droid gets marked defective? That’s it. They shut you down and no one hears from you again.”_

_“Loving them is a sin as deep as the grave. Phichit told me there’s a chip in him, cutting off the programming for the romantic feelings. If it breaks, that’s it. He’s declared defective.”_

_“Be his father. Be his brother. Be his friend. But don’t be his lover. Yuuri doesn’t need that._ _Stand by his side and never leave. That’s all you have to do.”_

They’d told Victor.

“Victor?”

They’d warned him.

“Neh, Victor?”

Yuuri’s cotton-soft words couldn’t pry Victor away from the panic spiking hot in his veins. All the events coupled together, hell, even the shrieks from the end of the first time he’d met Yuuri couldn’t compete with the sheer dread sparked by hearing Yuuri say the word with meaning. Defective. He needed to, no, _had_ to act quickly. Faster than he’d boarded the plane for Detroit after World’s, Victor needed to take Yuuri and escape. He whipped around, finger to his chin, looking for necessary items. What did they need? How would they even escape? On foot, maybe, but how long could they evade the police, or the Institute, for that matter?

With a horror-stricken gaze, Victor shuffled from the kitchen to the bedroom, feet thudding on the hardwood from the quickness of his pace. One yank and the dresser drawer flung open. The garments gathered between his fingers made a soft bouquet of the last bits of a life he was never going to return to. Carefully, his fingers glided over the hard surface, delicately running along the flat edges for a moment before bending to reach underneath the bed. He couldn’t afford to revel in the past when his future was slipping from him with every ticking second. The duffel skated along the wood, a quick zipping wind as it flew out with Victor’s tug before he dashed back into the hallway.

“Victor!” Yuuri stomped his foot, his hard knock against the wood floor finally catching Victor’s attention. He paused, seeing Yuuri’s crinkled nose and perplexed expression. “What are you doing?”

“Packing.” He haphazardly stuffed items in the duffel.

The squeak of rubber scraping against the floor brought Victor’s gaze to Yuuri once more. His pale, sweet features bowed behind the hair fluttering over his face. His foot twisted beneath him as he touched the tips of his fingers together, and no matter how much he sought, Victor couldn’t catch his eyes. “You’re not…upset with me?” Wells of tears threatened to trickle from Yuuri’s eyes once more. 

“What? No!” Victor slung the duffel on his shoulder, the gap between them closed in a few steps. He reached his hand up, cupping beneath Yuuri’s chin while his thumb swept away the traces of tears. “I admit this wasn’t exactly how I saw this going, but that’s besides the point now…they’ll be coming soon. We don’t have much time.”

There was so much hidden in Yuuri’s eyes, he could erect an entire library and it still wouldn’t hold everything Victor wanted to know. Yuuri’s lip quivered, a revelation solidifying as his pupils dilated. “So, you— You love—” Yuuri gulped.

Some sort of madness must have possessed Yuuri’s programming because how could he still, after everything, harbor even the slightest bit of doubt. “Yes, of course. And you?” Victor pointed to himself.

If Yuuri’s brows could ascend past his forehead, they would have in that moment. He waved his hands back and forth. “Do we really have to question that now?” his voice cracked at the pitch.

“Oh, you’re right.” It wasn’t a question; it was a fact. Yuuri’s love for Victor broke the chip. “We should smash our phones.”

“Right. I need to grab the other emitter.”

“Okay, you grab the emitter and your things. I need to make one last phone call.”

With a nod, Yuuri ran to the other end of the hall. Hearing the soft thud of the door shutting, Victor pulled out his phone, tapping against the screen until the pink light read “Contacts.” He knew who he needed to call was at the end of that list. “Victor?” Yuuri’s voice was a soft breeze before a storm, and Victor would turn his face to it even when the thunder roared through his mind.

“Yes?” He turned, catching Yuuri at the end of the hallway, hand on the door.

“Davai.” Yuuri smiled so warmly, Victor felt wrapped in it.

A sweet burst of laughter rippled through Victor. “Yes, davai, Yuuri.” He nearly snorted on the laugh but it subsided as his eyes widened, smiling as Yuuri disappeared into his room once more. His heart pulsed in double-time, each second stretching closer and closer to the moment someone burst in that door, stunners on, and claimed Yuuri. It wasn’t happening, not when Victor knew so much.

The tears. The tiny rivulets streaming down Yuuri’s face. Was this what happened at SHIP? It seemed like a malfunction the night he was there, but the more he though the more he remembered Yuuri’s dripping wet face cloaked under shadow from the dim lighting. The same streaks he saw before the ping. Of course! That had to be the difference. The Institute prevented Yuuri from slipping into a defective state. Victor would find that admirable if there weren’t so many more questions drudged up with the notion. Why would they know if Yuuri was going defective?

Did Yuuri know? He had been there, tear stained, but he wasn’t terrified this time. Yuuri hadn’t shouted or screamed in a frenzy. He merely stood in front of Victor, waiting for Victor to see. Yuuri knew! A shiver shot down his spine all the way to his toes as he tapped the last contact and hit call.

“Not a 3-D call, huh?” Yakov sounded as cheery as normal, but Victor noted the distinct lack of “idiot” as per his usual greeting since he’d left. He must be halfway endeared to hear from him.

“I know you prefer older forms of contact.” Victor tapped his toes against the floor.

“I do…not that you ever list—” Yakov paused abruptly, the silence over the line digging like needles into Victor’s spine. An indistinguishable grumbling rolled through the speaker until Yakov bit back, “Wait, if you haven’t called to beg to return to skating, I don’t have anything to say.”

“Listen…Yakov…” What could Victor possibly say? His throat ran dry, a desert searching for an oasis. He tried again, voice cracking. “Take care of Makkachin, okay?” Makkachin, his best friend. Makkachin, his only surviving family. Victor just needed to ensure her care. He could rest on her safety since he couldn’t rest on her any longer.

Yakov scoffed, “She does her own thing, listens about as much as you do.” Another pause stretched Victor’s nerves thin and fraying. “Why’d you call, Vitya?”

Victor couldn’t risk an explanation. Pacing the floor, he tucked the phone between his neck and shoulder, biting the tremble from his bottom lip. “Can you-can you put her on the line?”

“You want me put a dog on the phone?”

“Yes, please!” The desperation in his voice must’ve been pitiful enough for Yakov to acquiesce; all Victor heard across the line was a groan and the shuffling of feet.

“Okay, Makkachin is next to me. She can hear you.”

“Makkachin, you’re going to have to mind the house.” He tried and failed to stifle the break in his voice as he choked back tears. “Be a good girl! Don’t eat things you aren’t supposed to.” He laughed into the sob now creeping up his throat, because even now, with Makkachin there was always joy.

Behind him, he heard a light patter of steps as Yuuri came back into the room. Hard plastic casings smacked against one another where Yuuri juggled his cumbersome load, jostling from side to side. “Victor, we need to go.” Yuuri’s words struck him hard and he recoiled a little, into himself. He nodded before turning around. Yuuri didn’t need to see any of his tears.

“Vitya, are you in trouble? I told you not to go back to Detroit and that damned—”

“Dosvidanya, Yakov. Thank you for taking care of Makkachin.” His thumb pressed the screen to end the call and his arm fell limp at his side, his still-damp sleeve cold to the touch. “Yuuri…do you have every—”

SLAM!

The door sprang open, crashing against the wall. They were too late. Victor cursed himself for making that one last phone call.

“Minami-kun?” Yuuri’s quizzical voice made Victor look to the door instead of for escape routes. The tech’s white coat blended into the white paint, his pale hand giving the only color as it pressed flat against the door. His blonde hair fell over his forehead, the red on his bangs barely peeking out, but seeing it made Victor’s tense shoulders relax incrementally. A heavy silence hung between them for only a moment, but it was enough for all to bear the weight of the circumstances upon them. A snap and a flash, and Minami tilted his head up, eyes searching the room.

His breath whooshed out in a great gasp as he heaved, “I was…so close…I could have fixed this…and then you…”

“Yes,” Yuuri stated simply.

Minami’s eyes shone with pain, shooting daggers at Yuuri, and Victor felt as gutted and Minami looked. “How could you?” Victor didn’t know if the question was directed at him or Yuuri, but it didn’t stop it from hurting.

“I—” Victor started, lifting a finger.

Minami peeled himself from the door, redistributing his weight to hold up the supply box on his hip. “It doesn’t matter now. SHIP will be here in a minute. They can’t be far behind.” He sat the box on the counter and turned to look directly at Yuuri. “Uhh…h-here. Punch me. Make it look like I tried to stop you! I can wipe your phones.”

“Why?”

“If they can’t find you, they’ll start searching everyone you’ve ever known.” Of course they would. Victor inwardly cursed himself for not thinking about that. How many people did he put in danger?

Taking a quick breath to resolve himself to hitting someone undeservedly, Victor took a step forward only to feel the weight of a palm against his chest. He glanced over and found Yuuri holding him back, brows knitted together.

“No, Victor. I’ll do it. They might scrape for skin cells if they don’t believe him.” Something in the thin line Yuuri’s lips as he wound up to throw the blow told Victor that scraping for skin cells would be the nicest thing SHIP’s shut down crew would do if they didn’t believe Minami.

The crack of Yuuri’s fist landing on Minami’s jaw shot through the quiet room. He stumbled back before shaking himself, stepping over to Victor. “Take this! Yuuri will know how to work most of it. It will make sure he stays fine-tuned.”

“Won’t you get in trouble?” Victor didn’t have enough time to explain that he almost always carried most of those tools with him, that the duffel in his arms drooped so low from the weight of the black box that held everything inside.

“I’ll figure something out. Just go!!!” He shoved the box into Victor’s arms. “Yuuri?” Minami’s lip quivered, tears pooling in his eyes.

“Huh?”

“Ganbatte, Yuuri. GANBATTE!”

***

The streets greeted them as unpleasantly as Minami had. Harsh streams of rain pelted Victor’s shoulder as the rest crashed around him. Droplets hopped along the blacktop, splashing as they ran over the road, ducking in the narrow alleyway. Blues and reds flashed against the grey bricked building, a siren blaring so loud Victor’s ears popped.

Victor tried to still his breathing, his sweat blending with the cool rain that warmed against his neck. Any second, the police and SHIP team would appear. Did they see them? Instinctively, he threw his arm protectively over Yuuri’s chest, pressing them both flush against the wall. Yuuri’s eyes widened in surprise and darted to Victor, wordlessly asking what he was doing. One finger to his lips warned Yuuri to keep quiet, and Yuuri nodded, positioning himself, fingers stretched straight.

They heard steps first, heavy-footed steps marching through the soaked streets. Victor couldn’t figure out exactly how many, but they carried enough of an echo that he could tell they were significantly outnumbered. The motor stopped, then the footsteps. Each new level of quiet raised new goosebumps on Victor’s skin. He pressed his arm harder over Yuuri’s chest, as if he could secure his soul as well as his body.

“Here! Apartment 2B! Everyone ready?” a woman’s cut sharp as she called out. Swishes of clothing rustled, and Victor held back the cough pricking his dry throat. “Okay!” the same voice exclaimed. “We’re going in! They want this one back alive. No shut offs! So only stun if necessary!” Another stretch of silence dragged for an eternity before the footsteps started again. Then the sound of a door whapping against the ledge outside, patterned footsteps clopping like a horse ridden battalion storming the entrance. They waited, holding each other, and holding onto the hope until the last scuff of shoes against concrete faded.

Once the dust of any footprints had washed away in the pouring rain, Victor slowly peeled himself off the wall. “Walk slow. We don’t want to attract attention,” he instructed, barely above a whisper. Painstakingly slowly, he lowered his arm at Yuuri’s agreeable nod, sweeping down to feel as much of Yuuri as he could before they began again. Every step taken widened the gap between them and their first home. _We couldn’t tell the hotel owners goodbye._ Victor grimaced at the thought, shaking it off as they slipped farther and farther down the alley, the darkness more comforting than lonesome for the first time Victor could remember. They could get through this, find some place far away, and—

The sound of an empty can clinking as it bounced just a few feet away hit Victor before the feeling of his shoe crashing into it did.

“Wait! I hear something!” Victor quaked at the words from some faceless person behind him, every inch of his spine straightening so fast his hair lifted before falling gracefully against his scalp once again. Now wasn’t the time for hair loss or thinking about hair loss.

“Where?”

“In that alleyway over there.”

Shit. Their steady walking pace turned to running as they fled, the strike of Victor’s foot against the ground reverberating in his ears along with his heartbeat. He felt fingers grabbing for his hand and looked over to see Yuuri scrabbling to hold tight. He gripped Yuuri’s long, soft fingers leading them to turn behind a building. Footsteps echoed in the distance somewhere, far enough that he could catch a breath between the thud of his steps hitting the ground but still too close for comfort.

They ditched one alleyway for another, Victor trailing behind Yuuri as he stopped on his heel. Each side of the alley drew the same dark shadowed curtain, but the boots bounding behind them gave them no choice. In a breath, Victor caught the indecision in Yuuri’s eyes as they darted back and forth, searching and finding no respite in either direction. With only one thing left to do, he twisted his fingers around Yuuri’s and sprinted in the direction his heart led him. His legs wobbled but he had to endure. He rushed forward, past the dumpsters, over the boxes and piles of trash, until he could only feel the near-bursting pounding of his heart and the weight of Yuuri’s hand in his. He couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop, until he no longer heard anything behind them.

The force of his head smacking into the black stone of a visage caught him off guard. Nothing in his sight could grasp who or what he slid into, but dread stuck firmly to his heart. His arms windmilled as he propelled backwards, the ground scratching against his back as he fell.

“Seems like you’ve got yourself a real bad problem there, Victor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I decided to merge the story into one singular fic rather than a series. I feel like it will work better as a whole unit. So, you may see a few chapters you've already read before pop up. :)
> 
> Also, if you are over the age of 18 and want a place to yell about Yuri on Ice, please join my discord!  
> [Coffee and Tutti's Love Cafe Link](https://discord.gg/5AYe8jp)
> 
> If you’d like to follow me for updates on Twitter or Tumblr, please click below!  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/tutti_writes)  
> [Tumblr](https://tutsibug.tumblr.com/)


	17. Defective: Bounty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor finds a familiar face in the darkness. Can he help them escape?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music for the Chapter  
> [ Sex Killer on the Loose ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YOwSrPzT8qg)

The popping sound went unnoticed by everyone but Victor. Though burning, the scratch against his back paled to the eerie lynching gag feeling around his neck as he heard the mechanical snap somewhere in his leg. He didn’t know if he could move it, much less face whatever misfortune lurked in their way. Chancing giving his state away, Victor rolled his ankle. Foot to heel, he stretched back and forth and around until he sensed enough to stand. Gears stuttered beneath his weight as he pushed up from his hands, rising one vertebra at a time until he was as straight as he could be given his sexual proclivities.

By the time he’d dusted off his gravel-bruised hands and readjusted the duffel on his back, Yuuri leapt in front of him, fists clenched and back bent enough to look like an animal in the wild, somewhere far from the scorched forests of buildings smothered in concrete, protecting its own. Something instinctual, but completely unnatural for a synthetic.

“You—you leave us alone!” Yuuri’s nearly whispered, but his bitten-back shout was enough to shake as the form in front of them took two heavy steps backwards. Light streamed from the street, catching hints of broad shoulders covered in white cotton. The beam of light washed out the color, but the rigid lines of years exposed to the elements still shone on his skin. Drops of rain beaded and sluiced down his neck until the heart beneath his ear cried black.

“Ody?” Victor blinked in realization as he spoke, dumbstruck. Clear as day, Ody grinned, the veneer of his teeth white and sparkling in the light. Scuffing his shoe against the concrete, Yuuri stomped one hardened foot forward, eyes still transfixed. Gentle as if he were reaching for the starling on the perch, Victor looped his arm into where Yuuri crooked his elbow. “It’s okay, Yuuri.” He patted the side of Yuuri’s arm, coaxing him to a calm. “Ody is the man who helped me find you. We met him at your initiation.”

“Right.” Yuuri quirked a suspicious brow but relaxed under the thumb running back and forth on his arm. Victor tried not to let his heart leap at the thought of his touch soothing Yuuri. It was inordinately cute how concerned he was, and even more baffling. Even in the darkest hour, Yuuri continued to surprise him.

Resisting the urge to meld himself into Yuuri’s side to form a Victor and Yuuri fusion of sorts, Victor occupied himself with a more pressing concern. “How did you find us?”

“Find you? You ran into me!” Ody’s chuckle rolled from his gut and Yuuri gave a sheepish grin in reply. “Heard some hollering on my stroll, thought I’d see what’s the matter.” He bent down to level his height, weighing his arm on his knee like he was about to give the play notes. “Looked to me, by the way you two were barreling through here…that you might have some trouble.”

“Yes. We’re— He’s— We need to get out. Far away from here.” Far away from anywhere, if Victor had any say in the matter. Somewhere with less synthetic electricity. Somewhere without location systems, if such a place even existed in this day and age. Before he could even begin to consider where, the only direction he needed to get was out.

“I can lead you out through the suburbs. Anywhere you want to go?” Ody raised his arm behind his head, nonchalantly looking from side to side. A silence that babies couldn’t cry through filled the alley, not even a pebble pattering on the walkway.

Prying his dried lips apart, Victor sighed. “No, just away from the city. Yuuri’s got two emitters to change out.”

“They can find you in the change out, unless you’ve got something better?” Ody turned, walking away casually.

“We don’t. We’ll just have to keep moving.” Victor held onto Yuuri’s arm, hoping it was enough to hold to the hope that Victor felt starting to slip.

Victor’s bones chilled under the darkness, his soaked shirt now sticking from the mix of rain and sweat clinging coldly to him as it dried. He hadn’t noticed it since they darted off, but with the heat of adrenaline wearing off, he shivered. The quiet didn’t do much to silence his mind, their narrow escape from SHIP not nearly distant enough for any sense of calm. The maze of alleyways led one into another, the stench of oil and sewage rotting in the corners the same at every turn. Nothing of the drab grey brick and concrete gave any indication of where they were, and he didn’t even know how long they’d been walking. Every so often, he’d sneak his hand into his pants pocket, only to feel the empty hole where his phone should be. How dependent on that thin piece of plastic was he? Victor thought himself self-sufficient against most automation. It was paramount to his survival as a person.

Yet, the more he looked over to Yuuri, at the his high cheekbones and pursed lips, the sharp eyes that told stories of his determination and will without ever saying a word, the less he felt preserved in his own human skin. A parched laugh fell from his dry mouth, his throat itching. He chuckled at his own ignorance. If only he knew love existed in Synthetics, he could have snuck Yuuri away before this happened. Yet, the more the towers of the city began to crumble into pieces around him, the more he remembered that before Synthetics, there was war. A war that drove him away from this world, away from Yuuri.

Between the clack of footsteps and the ever-winding paths, every pitter of rocks skipping along the road sunk them into a tense monotonous lull. Ody whistled, and Victor soon found the tune softening or raising in pitch in congruence with the direction they needed to take. Turning right? A sharp two beats. Left? A rolling tumble of whistles strung together.

Nothing rattled in his leg, but with every move, he could feel the gears winding tighter. He limped, the clouded night sky his own personal curtain to hide underneath. He needed to fix it. Take apart the silicone cover and dig into the root of the issue. What would he do if they were spotted again? Could he even run? Walking was making his leg turn back into the stump it was before. No, he shook his head. He couldn’t go back to that thinking. Not with the very beating of his heart walking next to him, formed of nothing but metal and programming.

At the thought, Victor’s leg buckled beneath him. A small gasp shot into the quiet night as his legs hit to the ground. His knee crashed into cold, damp concrete, waves of pain pulsing into his hip, up his spine. The soft padding of feet he had heard next to him started to tread further and further away. No one knew he fell. No one could yell if they knew anyway. He was stuck.

A piercing blip of sound cut into the air like a smoke signal, alarming but pointedly. Victor looked up, straight ahead into the abysmal darkness. Eyes straining, he tried to make out any ridge or ruffle in the layers of darkness distinct enough to be moving. Nothing gave a semblance of movement, just black on black. A few more seconds passed until the sound echoed again, long and sharp somewhere ahead of him. A sweeter whistle came after, matching pitch but with a nectar he could taste on his tongue. It came again, one whistle, then another. He could hear the distinctions now. Ody whistled first, high enough to reach back to wherever Victor was, and Yuuri followed, his tone soothing. One mocking the other, lark and starling working together, calling Victor forward.

Victor sprang up, straightening his prosthetic leg to hobble forward. It didn’t matter that his hip protested, pain flashing white and hot with each step. Yuuri was a flame and he was a moth. Even if it killed him, he’d keep moving forward. His sock squished and slipped in his shoe, but even if Victor were in his new birth-suit skin he’d take the uncomfortable feeling for his hand to find the warmth of those fingers. He levied himself against the wall, the brick sanding down his palm until it was rough against rough. At every trilling whistle, Victor cried, “ _Starling,”_ in his heart.

The wall fell away beside him. Air whipped with a high scream through his fingers as his hand swatted at nothing, searching for stability, realizing as he slapped his side he must be at a crossroads. Which way did they go? He strained his ears, listening for the vibrational cue of the lark. It came hummed and high, followed by his starling, so sweet and gentle he turned his head instinctively to the call. They couldn’t be far now. How long had they been separated? Uneasiness whittled through his skin, digging up the trenches of another dark corridor he’d traversed before. His prosthetic leg throbbed. It couldn’t, but it did. The ghosts of a thousand nightmares coiled around him, weighing him until he could only drag his leg behind him.

Back and forth. The automated world he knew and the fresh, warm eyes of the world with his Synthetic faded in and out of his mind so much he could no longer tell the two apart. He’d been struggling with it, trying to figure out whether the worlds were separate or the same. Here, in one of the direst moments of his life, the darkness showed the light. His past and his future. Human and Synthetic. Lark and starling. Starling and lark. Two whistles of the same tune. Starling. Lark. Starling. Lark. He heard it now, clearer than blue skies over the ocean, so tangibly close his ears rang praises as the whistles became louder and louder. He turned one more time, the glow of the streetlamp casting enough light to see shadows. One umbral streak pulled long into the street, merging with the darkness of the alleyway.

Two voices, one shadow. Victor traced the curves with his eyes, trying to form where both bodies were. Why would Yuuri cling so close? He ducked down, sliding against the wall until he could see for himself why only one shadow reached out in the night. The last frayed thread of his hope snapped.

“Stop biting me, you little shit!” Ody’s hand cupped further over Yuuri’s mouth as Yuuri fought against him. The tighter he held, the more force Yuuri pushed with, twisting his arms, hand, anything in an effort to disentangle himself.

Air forced its way from Yuuri’s mouth, gears audibly straining but he shouted “Vi-Victor!” anyway.

“Huh?” Victor tried to piece the scene together with what he knew. Ody, the man who set Victor on this path, now held Yuuri in his clutches, one arm wrapped over his torso while the other struggled to clamp Yuuri’s shoulder down. “What’re you doing? Let Yuuri go!”

“Careful. Any louder and they’ll hear you.” A sly grin slipped over Ody’s face. He nodded behind him like a fox to his den. Victor looked up, finally catching his meaning. There, only a few meters away, stood the building housing the very entity they’d been running from plastered in letters stark over shining white: SHIP.

Victor’s eyes narrowed. “Why did you lead us here?”

“He’s a bounty hunter, Victor!” Yuuri’s strained words confirmed Victor’s fears. This whole time, the mimicked cry was a warning call. Yuuri tried again, thrusting his shoulder to try to knock Ody’s arm off, only to fall back against the man’s chest with a whirr like he’d pushed all his programming into overdrive.

“Binding wire. Short circuits their systems. Makes them weak. Pliant.” Yuuri drooped over Ody’s shoulder as he spoke, his body limp in the crook of Ody’s arm.

“Yuuri isn’t weak!” Victor started to rush forward, only to pause as Yuuri cried out. With every step Victor took, Ody pulled the wires tighter, Yuuri’s strangled yelp telling him enough: whatever this stuff was, it was meant to cause Synthetics pain.

“Step any closer and I’ll blow his start heart here and now.” Ody patted the side of his hip with his elbow, the unmistakable outline of a pistol seated in a holster flapping against it. “And I’d really hate to lose out on such a good sum of money.”

Victor swallowed, bound by his fear as much as the wires bound Yuuri. He couldn’t panic, do something rash when emotions ran high, or worse turn cruel and put Yuuri into more danger. This would require the precision of balancing a blade on a freshly frozen pond. Any crack could wreck everything. He needed to think. “Why him?” he asked, the only question that could buy him time, maybe.

“Someone SHIP wanted brought back intact? Well, that might fetch a real good price. It’s just the business, Victor. Don’t mean nothin’ by it.” Ody shrugged.

“It’s not just busines,” Victor spat back, his voice near growling. “You can’t have him.”

“I already have it.” Ody craned his neck, bringing Yuuri’s head up by a pinch on his chin. Yuuri’s lips glimmered wet in the pale light as Ody looked him over. “What a pretty one, too. You must be very satisfied.”

“No!” Victor took one step forward. One step too many.

Ody’s hand flew up in front of him. “Now, just hold up! Why are you trying so hard? I don’t want to take anyone out during this transaction. They can get you another—”

“No one is replacing my Yuuri!” Victor clamped his hands over his mouth. Did anyone hear? He looked at Yuuri, his heart emptying from his chest as he caught sight of the wires around Yuuri’s neck once more. Yuuri’s eyes didn’t catch his. Rather, they stared intently at the duffel at his side.

“Oh, you really are in love with him, aren’t you?” Ody pouted, a feigned look of pity in his cold eyes. “Most the time that infatuation stuff wears off by the time the leak has sprung. But not you, huh? Too bad there’s no clause for what happens when you love a Synthetic and a Synthetic loves you. It’s just metal. Dangerous metal underneath anyways.” At the last word, Yuuri’s elbow jabbed into Ody’s side as he leapt into the air and Victor finally caught on. He unzipped the bag as Ody struggled to right himself.

“How’d the hell you get out of the bind?” Ody snarled, his carefree facade slipping away, his face twisting, eyes razor sharp and focused on Yuuri. “You’re not right.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m free.” Yuuri tossed the withered bindings at his feet.

“Where do you think you’ll go?” Ody scoffed, folding his arms to run his eyes up and down Victor indignantly. “You don’t think I haven’t noticed you’re injured, did you?”

Of course he knew. Any trained eye could see Victor favoring one side over the other like a wounded animal. But Victor wasn’t about to be prey. Letting his hair tousle into his face, he gave his sweet smile, flirting with danger as his hand reached into the duffel. “You missed one thing.”

“Oh, really? What’s that?”

“I’m Victor Nikiforov. I never do what people expect. How else would I surprise them?” In one sweeping motion, he flung the blades out of his bag and Ody watched like a rabbit had just popped out of a hat. Bright blue lights shot out beneath Yuuri’s feet as he jumped into the skynetics, the clasp falling over with a clack. They locked and Yuuri sped forward.

A vibrant wine hue spun bright as Viktor hopped on his own skynetics, letting them close around his feet. “And that’s Yuuri Katsuki, not _it_.” He winked. Light streamed beneath him as Victor slid forward, propelled onward.

“GUARDS, THAT’S THE DEFECTIVE!!! HE’S GETTING AWAY!”

Victor didn’t dare risk turning to see if Ody was pointing, his words were enough. His blades buzzed beneath him, pink streaming behind. He pushed to tip of his foot down, accelerating. Yuuri’s blue lights flashed just ahead and Victor felt the air sweep between his arms as he sped faster to catch up. On blades, whether gold on top of ice, of hard light over blacktop, he could conquer anything. They could win.

Sirens blared in the background, far enough away that Victor’s heart didn’t immediately pound out of his chest, but still closer than he cared for. They were losing time, and Victor was quickly losing momentum.

A crack. Then another crack. Victor felt something sweep by his chin. Another popping sound and he ducked down, wobbling on his skates. Something pinged against the brick wall next to him, and as he looked, a small cylindrical piece flashed in the light. “Yuuri! They’re shooting at us. Go!” He latched onto Yuuri’s hand and yanked him into another street, the whizzing sound dying as they bolted farther down the road.

Time lost meaning as they soared past streetlamps, buildings, benches, until everything turned to rubble in their wake. There, in the crumbling streets of the suburbs, they could chance a brief feeling of security. The countless times Victor had found himself in the dusty doldrums taught him enough to know humans didn’t venture here unless they had to. For once, Victor felt unified with the broken springs of his leg rather than a journeyer in a foreign land. This soil he knew.

Yuuri slowed to a coast, letting Victor catch up until they met shoulder to shoulder. Careful to avoid any debris, they turned, gliding around jagged rock until they came face to face for the first time since they fled the apartment. Yuuri’s fingers felt at Victor’s chest, his shirt finally dried from the wind of their fleeing. He looked up, meeting Victor’s eyes with a concerned look in his own as his hands lowered. “You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine…”

“No you’re not!” The cutest pout trembled on Yuuri’s lower lip and if Victor had any more energy, he’d catch it in a kiss before Yuuri could continue. “Ody said you were injured, Victor!” Yuuri’s hand trailed lower, over his hip, dangerously close to the bubbled silicone on his leg. Reflexively, Victor snatched Yuuri’s hand, pulling it up as Yuuri gasped, “Victor!”

“I’ll show you. Just— Wait. Let me.” He gulped, reaching for the buckle of his pants. This was not where he’d planned to have this conversation. Not in the dark of night amid hills formed by the ravages of war in brick and stone. Not after just barely escaping death and Yuuri being powered off eternally. Not with his shirt glued to him with sweat and his pants clinging to the dried blood on his knees. Not when every other sliver of his soul was so barren and vulnerable that he wanted, needed, to keep this secret like a blanket to his chest. But with Yuuri looking so nervous and fretful, he’d unravel himself if it meant covering him up.

Before he could say one syllable of the truth, a loud sound broke them from the moment. The ground rumbled beneath their feet, rocks scattering away from whatever was coming. They tried to start again, but even under the rapid circulation of the hard light, the vibrations came swifter and stronger. It was getting close.

Two lights shone on the ground beneath them, the neon yellow and green encroaching too fast and too close in Victor’s view. He whipped around, stopping on the tip of his toe until he caught the pink lights gleaning in the chrome. One of the motorcycles spun until it faced Victor. The rider removed their the helmet, blond locks blowing out in the breeze.

Their knight riding shining chrome snarled as Yuri stuck out his hand. “You coming or not, geezer?”

“Wow!” Victor, flushing excitedly, stripped off his skynetics and tossed them into the duffel. Turning to watch Yuuri climb onto the back of Otabek’s bike, he finally let out a true sigh of relief. Something comforting warmed him in the familiarity of Yuri’s agitated scowl, and Victor chuckled to himself before he sunk down into the soft seat, the city lights escaping his view behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will they escape Detroit?  
> Who knows. (It's me. I know.)
> 
> Find out in chapter three!!  
> Until then, a huge thanks to everyone for continuing to read, and comment, and just enjoy. I hope this part will be good. Tutti


	18. Defective:System

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back at the auto shop, Victor and Yuuri try to plan their escape with Otabek, Yuri, and Mila.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music for the Chapter  
> [ Way Down we Go](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0-7IHOXkiV8)  
> [Believer ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7wtfhZwyrcc)

The chime for Mr. Lee’s Automotive company always jingled much more excitedly than the look on Mr. Lee’s face anytime anyone entered. Victor felt the chill of Mr. Lee’s quirked eyebrow as they shuffled into the garage single file. Something in Mr. Lee’s demeanor told Victor he didn’t need an explanation. It wasn’t long before Mr. Lee huffed and turned back around, diving under the hood of a SUV that by the looks had suffered its last hoorah decades ago.

Clinks and cracks against metal became the ticking of the clock. Each bang and crank of the wrench reminding Victor more and more to keep a heavy bearing on his naturally attached leg. He wasn’t a man to count on luck, but he couldn’t deny the gold thread of fortune that strung along their escape. If nothing else seemed on their side, at least time favored them well enough to end up here and not in the bounty hunter’s grasp, or worse, SHIP.

“How dumb are you, asshole?” Yuri’s voice finally broke near twenty minutes of pregnable silence. His lip twitched, drawing tight into a snarl, the hiss of his voice a viper ready to strike at Yuuri.

“Hey!” Yuuri’s eyes crossed, his face pinched into a pout. One more look to add to the box of adorable Yuuri faces Victor kept on a shelf in his mind.

Two heavy steps and Yuri encroached into Yuuri’s space. His nose nearly smacked into Yuuri’s chin. “Couldn’t keep your levels in check?” Yuri sneered, half taunt, half menace, his face partly cloaked by shadow. “That chip in you is garbage! And now we’re all fucked. Good job, Katsudon!”

From the other side of the work bench, Otabek called out, “Yuri! Do you want to solve the problem or not?” He reached out only for Yuri to swat his hand away. Each step carried as Yuri stomped out of the garage, disappearing into the hall with his hand held high, waving his offensive gesture in the air like the banner of an angered lover. Victor never felt a comradery with a brother in arms so much as he did with Otabek right then. Philia might as well be engraved in the silicone of Otabek’s skin.

Romance was its own war, one Victor felt in the tiniest screw of his leg. With every move Otabek made trying to let the steam release quietly, Victor saw more and more the toll the separate worlds took on them both. Under the bright white light hanging over the bench, Victor could see the discolored patches on Otabek’s forearm, parts replaced but not quite matching. With Synthetic, they could love the way Victor knew love, but what had refurbishment cost them both? More than Victor’s leg ever cost him, or at least as much. Victor let his smile tell of his empathy, eyes softening to match. “How did you find us, anyway?” He bent over to adjust his pantleg, unsticking it from the sweat on his ankle.

The wide open, belly jiggling cackle Victor had come to appreciate as the ghost of his mother in Mila rang through the room. He welcomed it. “Your emitter!” Mila wound the ratchet in her hand, catching her splitting side in her other arm. “Don’t think I’d loan you hardware I couldn’t find, would you?”

“I heard the call over the wire,” Otabek clarified, still hammering out ridges on a piece of metal. “Thought we’d better check.”

“Well, thank you.”

“You keep limping. Want me to take a look at it? Haven’t worked on human parts before but it can’t be that different.” Mila giggled, eyeing Victor’s leg like a science exhibit.

He patted his thigh, puffs of dust wafting into the air like his leg had somehow become an old rug. “Thank you. I’ll be alright. Just an old injury from an accident that flamed up when I fell.” A partial truth was better than an outright lie, Victor conceded. The adumbration should suffice, anyhow, without the necessity of details. He tossed in a parting grin for good measure as he turned around, careful not to let anyone notice him wince as pain shot up his spine. 

“An accident?” Yuuri’s voice, ragged and tight, asked the question he’d hoped to avoid. “I didn’t know. There were never any articles…” 

Guilt crept over him, pumping ice from his heart into his veins, slithering slush until he had to only divert his gaze from of Yuuri’s pleading eyes. “It wasn’t reported on,” he told the cold cement, the slab as in-between white and black as the answer itself. Neither thing Victor had said was an explicit lie, but it bartered with the truth until the price was much less fetching than the original. He’d rather give it away for a pittance than let someone see the value of this pain. He let his eyes coast up the high steel bars, the old newspapers printing his improper truth years before he’d ever needed to hold his breath and wait for Yuuri to accept his lacking response.

“We’ve got big trouble,” Yuri’s warning tone stole the need for a response as he suddenly reappeared in the doorway, his eyes lighter than usual, like the vivid green had been scared out of them.

Otabek stopped mid whack, the handle loosening in his grip, landing with a thud on the table. “What is it?”

Before Yuri could part his lips, the bell jingled.

Yuuri’s tentative squeak as the door whapped against the wall arrested all of Victor’s sense. “No! We haven’t even had time to plan.” Yuuri’s fist balled and clenched, the same stance Victor had seen in the alley. Every sliver of safety dried up as Victor heard scuffing and muttering from the other side of the wall.

At fifteen, Victor had been trapped. Pushed against a wall in terrifying darkness. A darkness that clawed through his skin until even his bones were night. His piercing screams were the only sound before his body was wracked with an otherworldly pain, the severity only shone by a strip of light when the door finally opened. He’d escaped that darkness and visited it only in the nightmares Yuuri’s hand soothed. He now stood trapped in another room with no exit, and no amount of light could bring escape. So, Victor did the only thing he could—he grabbed Yuuri’s hand. 

“Doesn’t matter now. SHIP’s here.” Mila hopped up with a huff, the stool rattling beneath her, coy smile playing on her lips. “So, the plan is: I go see SHIP’s wonderful patrol.” Her finger extended one joint at a time until it pointed straight at Otabek’s nose.”You figure out what to do with them.” She sauntered out of the room, throwing a wink over her shoulder.

A pressing silence strangled the next moment. Everything stilled. Mila’s boisterous laugh resounded through the hall, with just enough of a lilt to let them know she had captured the officers’ attention. 

“Okay, shit.” Yuri kicked the ground and Victor shared the sentiment. They were damned.

“The wall.” Otabek pointed. “There’s an opening!” Otabek walked over and peeled the paper back like turning a page in a book, rolling it in his palm until it exposed an opening. “You need to get in the wall there. We’ll close it off.” He ushered them forward, holding his arm out and extending the final urgent hope for them all.

Stiff and stilted, Victor walked forward, hand still entangled in the armor of Yuuri’s warmth; a fingertip of bravery would be all he needed to tarry through. There was no energy for a drop more. He unlatched each finger reluctantly, a sigh escaping his lips as he took one final look at the soft lines and curves of everything that made up Yuuri, aglow beneath the harsh beams of the lights.

Once more, Victor entered a new darkness. He dipped into the crevice, shimmying until his shoulder rested against cool metal. It chilled every nerve on his skin. Shivers seized him, the slush in his veins turning to pure ice. Next, Yuuri joined him, shifting until his shoulder overlapped Victor’s arm. Yuuri twisted until his fingers could rejoin Victor’s, locking into his hand with a firm squeeze. Such an odd thing, feeling Yuuri; sometimes he was cool under the sweltering summer. Yet now, leaning against him, Victor felt his soothing warmth return as Yuuri pressed against his arm. He squeezed Yuuri’s hand back, stretching his neck to press a reassuring kiss to Yuuri’s temple.

What seemed like utter blackness from the outside actually held a trace of light once within. The metal stacked around them to form a small square opening, covered only by the worn newspaper. Victor looked through the once black print, greyed now by the years, glued and pasted in place. Beyond the illegible words, he could make out the yellowed shadows of the persons on the other side.

“There’s only room for two.” Yuri’s shadow reached out, holding either side of Otabek. “What about the car?”

“Oh, yes!!! I’m sure you two would look so good next to me on the hood! Come this way!!!” Mila’s voice rang out through the garage. Victor stilled, holding his breath. His nose tickled the paper wall, a small slit opening just enough for him to see half of the garage.

Victor could see Yuri’s face turned upward, looking at the steel lift with a frantic need. His eyes flitted from the mounted car back to Otabek, who adjusted the collar of his leather jacket, shaking his head. “Not enough time. You’ll have to squeeze in.”

Forlorn was never a look Victor imagined he’d see on someone who carried as much ferocious pride as Yuri did, but as Otabek nudged him forward, Yuri’s voice caught, fingers curling into the leather of Otabek’s jacket “Otabek…I…” Yuri’s words were lost as Otabek gripped his arms and pulled him forward, kissing Yuri’s lips, hard and strong, like he was tasting a meal before execution, savoring it so love would remain on his lips for eternity.

He pulled back with a pop and pressed his forehead against Yuri’s. “I won’t lose you. Not again.” Otabek’s words were packed with a past Victor couldn’t begin to fathom, but he knew a desperate plea when he heard one.

The slide of Yuri’s mouth into a competitive winning grin told him Yuri didn’t expect to lose. “I’m not going anywhere, dammit!” Yuri gave Otabek a gentle shove before climbing in, his tiny frame melding into Yuuri’s as they both squeezed into the space. “You gonna shut that thing or not?”

The pages rolled back shut and Otabek sat at the bench just in time for Mila to holler, “Ahh, look at that beauty!!!!” She swayed her hips, arm in arm with two officers as she bounded through the opening. Victor couldn’t make out any of their finer features, just the navy uniform with a vest that all SHIP and city officers wore. If Victor thought about it, he wouldn’t know where the line of SHIP’s officers ended and the city patrol began.

“It’s just a scrap of metal,” the one to Mila’s left scoffed, dislodging something wet from his mouth as he spat on the floor. Victor resisted the urge to retch, choosing to run soothing circles over the top of Yuuri’s hand with his thumb instead. 

Mila walked out of view. The next sound was a hollow banging of metal meshed with Mila’s flirtatious giggle. Not the open-mouthed cackle that reminded Victor too much of his mother, this one was as refined and precise as the welding of the hood of the car she was most likely sitting on. “But what the metal can become, that’s the beauty!” Mila paused, seemingly for emphasis, coming back into his vision to let her arm languidly slide over the officer’s shoulders, “Just think of all the possibilities. A searcher. A cleaner. The next great American soldier.” She spoke in a loud whisper, his lips grazing the officer’s ear. “Or the object of your desire.

“W-we didn’t come her for that!” a feminine voice squeaked out, and Victor turned just enough to get a look at the other officer tilting her head.

“Of course not! What was it again?” Mila’s face went doe-eyed, her expression spacey.

“Yuuri.” The man officer said flatly, not even trying to elongate the U properly. “Eros model. Went defective. Banged up one of the techs pretty good escaping.”

Otabek stood up and walked around the bench. “There hasn’t been anyone in today but me.”

“Otabek?” A shrill sound cut through as the man scuffed his shoe on the ground, earning a disturbed look from Otabek. Next to him, Yuri and Yuuri trembled at the noise. Victor eyes sharpened as he narrowed in on the male officer. The man flexed an off-putting smile, before adding, “Surprised to see you here. Shouldn’t you be out looking?”

“I stopped in to repair a light on my bike.”

“Right. Just so happened to be in the area?”

“Not really.” Otabek folded his arms over his chest, looking in the direction of the exit.

Their voices lowered beyond Victor’s human comprehension, and he couldn’t read their lips. The feeling of not knowing more was overwhelming and Victor tried to whisper, “What are they talking about? It got quiet”

“Shut up, Victor!” Yuri snapped, his voice barely audible. “Some assholes giving Otabek a hard time.”

It felt like ages passed in the quiet back and forth, the only gauge of time the brows Mila kept knitting closer and closer together. He was cramped, and bored, not to mention the immense pain that jabbed further into his hip each time he attempted to straighten. Keeping a weather eye through the thin slit, he tried to come up with a reasonable explanation should the tissue-thin veil between them suddenly tear and they all came tumbling through. He nearly lifted his arm to seek the time on his wrist, the old naked feeling a reminder that nothing in the past could continue into the future. The future had glittering brown eyes strewn with the fire of rubies. The future had a hand to hold and petal pink lips to kiss. Time could be forgotten for a future so bright, even in the darkness.

A sudden bang brought Victor from his musings to peer through the cut in the paper. “Lots of interesting décor in here. Old news articles.” The same man gave an incredulous laugh. “What, Sueng-Gil Lee can’t afford paint?”

The lift lowered then with a steady mechanical buzz. It gave up the ghost as tires settled against the concrete, steam spewing from the sides until the car was cloaked with white clouds. As the mist cleared, Mr. Lee became visible, firmly planted against the brake light. “I like to fill the walls with reality. No coat of paint is going to change the past.” He wiped a smudge of oil off his cheek, unphased.

“Just like an android to be logical,” Victor whispered to himself.

“Yeah, you’d think so. But he’s not.” Yuri kept his face forward as he spoke.

Victor cupped his mouth with his other hand and gave the quietist, “Wow,” he’d ever uttered.

“Seung Gil is a refugee. His parents were killed—” A snap stopped Yuri from saying anything else, but Victor knew. He could fill in the blank with blood, say the words in four different languages: _His parents were killed in the war._ Every line of print on the walls appeared a little bolder now.

The sound was the officer snapping a piece of metal in his hands like a twig. “Seems kind of flimsy to me.” A smirk played on the officer’s face. He kept his predatory gaze fixed on Sueng-Gil while he craned his arm upward. With one swift movement, he slammed his fist against the wall on the other side, took two steps, and then smacked his fist against the wall again. “Any old thing could just slip inside.”

“My doors are always open to SHIP for repairs,” Seung- Gil replied, his even tone more chilling than his eyebrow.

The man scoffed, taking two more steps. “This whole thing reeks.” Another smack, this time nearer their alcove. The paper shook in front of them, bits of dislodged metal and rock knocking against each other. Yuuri’s fingers wrapped tighter over Victor’s, nails digging into Victor’s palm from the force. Victor stood stock still, clamped Yuuri’s hand tighter, and once more wondered wildly every scenario pounding like the blood in his chest if they were found.

“It’s a garage!” Mila laughed. “Oil’s everywhere!” The lack of response left Victor’s throat dry. Anytime now, they’d be getting closer. Could he shield them from the blow?

Thump, thump, thump. Victor could hear his own heart like the banging of doldrums. His ears bled the beats until they became a choir made of metal and fear. Another terrorizing thud of a fist against the wall sounded, this time all too close. The metal bowed, reverberating through the garage and in his ears until it joined the riotous heartbeats. Above the frantic rhythms, Victor heard the measured steps crunch louder and louder, closer and closer. The man was there, right in front of them.

“There’s been no one here the entire time I’ve been here. You’re wasting precious time looking for the defective.” Otabek’s statement snapped the officer from his investigation, and Victor could see the hateful sneer as he turned, taking his intimidating steps in the direction of the workbench.

“Who are you to tell me what to do? You’re supposed to be a good little soldier.” Victor could feel Yuuri’s hand ball into a fist at the officer’s words. He looked through the opening just in time to catch the officer’s needle-thin nose poking into Otabek’s. “I know what you Synthetics do after dark.”

“My service is to SHIP, first. Always.” Otabek stood straighter, his broad shoulders the same width as the officer’s but his resilience making up the height difference until Otabek seemed taller.

“You wouldn’t lie to me. Would you, Otabek?” The man drew small circles with his fingers on the workbench.

“No, sir.” Victor’s view through the papers didn’t allow him to see Otabek’s stance, but he felt the stiffness in his voice straighten even his spine.

“They can’t lie to you, chief!” the other officer finally spluttered out. “It’s not in their programming or whatever.”

The man paused and everything went silent. Finally, he let out an exasperated sigh. “Right.” The officer clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, shrugging. “Then we better go. Let us know if you see any sign of them. He has that Agape, Yuri. I know he was _special_ to you. Hate for anything to happen to him.”

“Of course.”

“Good soldier.” The man gave one more long look before retreating behind the other officer out the hall.

The chime jingled. As the last soft bell, Victor caught the slightest stretch of Mr. Lee’s lip curling upwards, a hint of joy or at least contentment on his face. Soft feet pitter pattered on the ground as a husky, grey furred and as stoic as his owner, came around from where he’d been hidden behind the car, sitting at Seung-Gil’s feet. Victor never saw Mr. Lee any happier than now as he patted the dog’s head.

Yuri tore through the papers like a child unwrapping a present, wild and without care. “I’ll show him special! Son of s bi—” before Yuri could finish Otabek had trapped his lips in a fierce kiss.

They stayed that way for a moment, locked in a time of relief before Otabek broke the kiss. He pressed his forehead against Yuri. “Never let them get to you. They’re just a part of this system.”

“Well, this system fucking sucks.”

“Yuuri, Victor, they’re gone now. You can come out.” Sueng-Gil gave one more scratch to his dog before turning back to his work.

The light hit brighter as they emerged out, and Victor squinted, pulling his hand up to shield his eyes. Slow, adjusting steps forward, Victor looked like he was toeing the shoreline, feeling exactly how deep the water went. In truth, he was testing the waters, feeling how steady he was now that he was out of the wall and back to walking full strides. The numbing up his spine began to dissipate, replaced by a dull ache every few steps. He propped his elbow on the wooden bench, sliding down to sit on the stool, the soft cushion a pleasant reprieve.

“Okay, so what are we doing about these two?” Mila smiled as she pointed. For all the daftness she played, Victor knew she was a meticulous programmer and wielder of mechanical prowess. His parents would have only known the best.

“We need to see what avenues we have available.” Otabek walked up to the bench holding a small scroll. As he unfurled it, a bright white light cut through the middle, opening a screen across the page. “A lot has been compromised since the beginning.”

Mila swept her bangs back, tucking a red curl behind her ear as she leaned forward. She searched the screen, tapping a few buttons until a map opened. The entire globe fit on the page, and with a swipe of her finger, only half was left. Another swipe and North America filled the screen. She drug a fingernail over the edges, grazing over the dividing lines of country and state. “What about Leo? He still active?”

Adjusting his jaw, Otabek put his finger on the screen, a few brushes and the map zoomed until it changed from a pictorial grid to a vision of trees and branches. The camera angle followed Otabek’s finger until it stopped on a sign, Synthetic Sanctuary, painted in blue, the S on each word curving calligraphy that felt as peaceful and serene as the woods encompassing it. “Seems so.” Otabek pushed the side and the screen split, one side showing the map and the other the sign. “It’s far, though. And we don’t have many agents left along the way.”

“Synthetic Sanctuary,” Yuuri repeated the words on the screen. “I’ve heard of that before. They used to mention it at the eatery. They said if you make it past the border, you don’t need a chip.”

“Aye.” Yuri nodded. “The grounds are on sanctioned territory. Leo founded the area when they tried to go after his partner with a defective chip.”

“It was so romantic!” Mila squealed. “Leo lay on top of Guang Hong until they gave up. Built the place right there!”

“That was in the beginning,” Otabek found Yuri’s hand, “Right after most were refurbished.”

The screen blipped as Yuri brought his fist on it and snorted, “Yeah, and they made sure to make more laws so it would never happen again!”

“It can’t be every human…” Victor knew if people could see the Synthetic, they could change. They feared the violence but never felt the love.

“Who cares if it’s not every human! It’s enough of them! What would you know?” Yuri turned himself away from Victor, bitterness lacing his voice. “Your heart’s not a program.”

“My heart might be human but…” his throat burned with the need to say it. Scream that his leg was shattered metal and not bone. The more he looked in the burning embers of anger in Yuri’s eyes, the more he knew anything he said would only fuel the fire. He let his face fall in acceptance. “You’re right. I don’t know. All I know is I’m not losing Yuuri or you. I’ll help with any plan.”

“You two need to get to the sanctuary. It’s just on the Mexican border.”

“Amazing!” Victor waved his hands dramatically, “How do we get there?”

Mila’s eyes went wide and she smiled as she sang,. “I have just the thing!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your comments! They mean so much!!!  
> Next time: Yuuri and Victor hit the road.  
> XoX Tutti
> 
> Also, Venom did an amazing art for Chapter 14 of Synthetic which you can see here in chapter:  
> [Chapter 14](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22703635/chapters/61209691)  
> 


	19. Defective: Kokomo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor and Yuuri flee Detroit and head to a place no one wants to go...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music for the Chapter  
> [ Drive](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HmzzdXsiYhw)  
> [Slow ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=84_Ze0yOW-Y)  
> [Kokomo ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fJWmbLS2_ec) (Not this Kokomo, but I thought I would add it for fun)

The unveiling led them all huddled in a small room on the other side of the garage. Mila pulled the tarp away with the flourish of a presenter, throwing her arm up like a magician before the next illusion. The black covering flew away, dust flinging off the top. It swirled around with the force of a bible belt tornado until it finally dwindled, the last bits of particulate settling onto the floor. “Well, that do you think?” Mila placed her hand on her hip, and Victor noted the real magic in the elation of her smile.

A few seconds ticked and Victor watched Mila slowly lower her arm, letting it droop inch by inch to the seconds passing with no response. Victor looked from each person in the room, each face painted disastrously with inquisitive expressions at best, gagging at worst. “It’s a bit gaudy…” Otabek’s response trailed off. His lips thinned, agonizingly straight as he cupped his hand over his chin, the strap on his jacket sleeve swaying back and forth. 

Seung-Gil’s eyes narrowed. Though he made no facial gesture, his eyes appeared as if he were calculating all the smooth lines and edges, adding them up to his final score. Victor looked in his thick eyebrows to see if any numbers had etched their way through the furrowed brow. “Ostentatious.” His only word of reply before he exited, his dog steady at his heels.

“It’s extra as fuck, Mila.” Yuri smacked his hand against his forehead. “What the hell were you thinking? Who would drive this?”

The answer trembled in Victor’s leg, coursing through his body with the warmth of a fresh beam of sun after a chilly rain. Unable to curb his enthusiasm, Victor let out a gasped squeal, “It’s perfect!” His eyes lost sight in his excitement, mouth bowing into the heart that marked the epitomal expression of his joy. He ran over, letting his hand slide across the cool metal, over the squared side mirror, along the cut-out sides where the circular brake lights sat. It looked almost made for him. Each trace back up the fully boxed perimeter bubbled a childlike giddiness in Victor. He took one more glace at the wide spoked tan steering wheel. “Absolutely perfect.”

“Isn’t it… a little showy?” Yuuri wrung his hands as he looked over the convertible, eyes shifting from the shining metallic hubcaps to the elongated glass windshield. “We aren’t trying to stand out.” His words were grim enough that Victor’s shadow over the hood looked nearly menacing.

“Sometimes to hide, you have to stand out,” Otabek answered pragmatically, offering his hand in open gesture. “They’ll start searching outside the city at daybreak. No one will suspect that.” He pointed to the expansive front fender, indented with two deep angular curves, gleaming a polished silver in the light.

“Even today, the Cadillac convertible is classic. Especially the 1970 El Dorado I mirrored this after. Legendary!” Mila planted her hands firmly against the trunk to punctuate her exclamation. “Originally assembled right here in Detroit!”

“But pink?” Yuri scrunched up his nose, disapproving, as he glared at the color. The convertible was unmistakably a hot pink, bright and vibrant and the antithesis to Yuri’s idea of design, if the wardrobe Victor saw him sport told anything. “Can’t you make it a less flashy color?” Yuri said and Victor snorted. Animal print, black, leather, and rhinestones didn’t exactly spell out subtle, either. 

“I think Victor will recognize the color.” If Mila’s reply didn’t inspire curiosity, her bubbling smile certainly left his mind tingling at the prospect of a surprise.

The more Victor studied the body, its sleek design fitting the cheeky bright pink, the more a memory surfaced. And then, all too suddenly, it hit him like a fevered dream. “It’s…the mech my parents piloted.” He choked. “Half of it was this color.”

Mila nodded, breaking into a smile filled with bittersweet memories. “Your mother made me go through fifteen variants before choosing this one.”

“Really?”

“Mhm…she wanted the exact shade you colored her in.”

“I…” Victor drifted, searching the seas of his mind, and dragging up no such memory. “What?”

“You don’t remember?” Mila’s eyes nearly popped out of her metal formed skull as she gasped. “Just you. Come with me. The rest of you keep watch.” she dove her hand into her pocket, fingers hovering over something out of Victor’s sight. A knuckle protruded, like the hand of an infant upon its mother’s abdomen, against the lining of the denim pocket. Behind them, the metal wall creaked as one of the sheets of metal begrudgingly slid, opening to another room.

Stepping from one room into the next felt like walking through a portal into another dimension. The air nipped at Victor’s ears, much colder than the rest of the garage. Darker, too. The door shut behind him with a snap. What few lamps set sporadically on tables emitted a dim enough glow for basic visibility, but Victor’s eye were remiss to spy any finer details in the shadows.

Mila was a cloud formed sprite, nimbly shuffling from one side of the room to the next. Bolted wall to wall shelves stretched the spans of the room, topped with boxes and cases that, even squinting, Victor couldn’t make out. Mila appeared at one end, and like magic before Victor’s eyes she resurfaced on the other end. A reflective strip caught the light, zipping as Mila tore through the box before discarding it over her shoulder. She sighed, exasperated. “Where did I put that thing?” Clanging of loose metal and the frantic scratches against plastic carried the tune of a turbulent and discombobulated scavenger, roving through trunks to find treasure and only coming up with scraps of rubbish. Victor’s lips parted to offer help, but the groan he received in reply quickly had him clamping shut, thinking better of the joking reply on his tongue.

“Twenty years, you’d think I’d invent a better organization method.” Even in the dark the white veneer of her smile still charmed, glinting in the low lamplight. “Your father told me I’d lose my head if it wasn’t attached.”

A bit of a laugh slipped from his lips, puffing at the thought. “He told me that, too.”

“I s’pose he was right,” Mila grumbled as she lifted something from a high shelf. “I know I put it here somewhere. I’d never throw it out.” She shrugged, rummaging through another indistinguishable box of a plethora of items Victor could only assume were spare parts. He started to tap his foot. He forgot how long he’d been standing, every beat of his foot a stinging reminder that staying in one spot left him rigid and soldered in place. With every effort to be discreet, Victor moved his legs as naturally as possible, skating over to the desk squashed between two shelves. A reasonable place for him to go and pretend to help search.

The bent neck of the lamp only shone on the measly bits of tattered papers scribbled with long streams of coding. “You use paper for coding?” Victor thumbed over the light blue lines and frayed edges.

“Mhm, less traceable. I can burn it easily. Don’t really wanna burn myself.” She giggled and Victor felt himself warm at the genuineness of the sound. Fake laughter was the burial of self, and right now Victor needed to lean on the real, with an urgent Velcro snapping him shut within. Mila let out one more summer day laugh, her hand landing with a soft pat on her thigh. “Ya know, it’s funny. When I was built, they told you to keep everything digital. Didn’t want a paper trail. Now paper is safer. Everything digital can fall into the wrong hands.” Mila shook her head as she stood, returning to the next shelf.

Victor gave a tentative nod of understanding before turning back to the desk, feeling it wobbly beneath his light touch. It creaked as he leaned against it, trying to rest himself. His eyes grazed over the surface, at the pens spread fanlike, over the tin can with a blue rose painted on it, to the wall behind. A strand of tea lights hung low, hovering over a taped picture. Shadows and age faded the picture, hiding some of the background, but as Victor slowly leaned in, the faces emerged. Faces he knew. Mila in the middle with arms tossed over the shoulders of two people: a man with two distinguished dimples under his ice blue eyes, and a woman with shimmering silver hair. “Papa…Mama…” A dream had come alive before him and for a moment he forgot it was a photo, a memory. For one sepia coated moment it was only the setting sun, and they were right beside him.

“That’s it! Victor you’re a genius.” Her voice was excited and not cruel, but Victor seized and angrily glared in her direction before seating himself in his amiable stance once more. He looked back over the photograph as Mila ripped it from the wall.

“Yes, but usually I know why.” Victor’s glare quickly dissolved into a cheerful, if somewhat startled, facade. He brought his finger to his lip, trying the see over Mila’s shoulder.

Behind the photo laid a small cut out in the wall. “Right here. That’s where I put it!” Mila reached in, scraping her hands against the cement as she felt for her lost treasure. Paper crinkled and her hand remerged, clutched tightly. “There!” she opened her palm. A small white folded square sat in her hand and Mila lifted it as if she were handling etched tablets of stone for a new religion.

Victor pinched the edge of the paper with trepidation, unfolding it slowly under the light. The first flip revealed a watery blue sky, the brushstrokes still evident in wide swipes across the page. A flat strip of green stood in place of grass; sprigs in thin lines shot up like beanstalks with blue blossoms the width of the white clouds. Victor laughed a little at the thought of his child self, trying to paint with such precision, but it didn’t override the hammering beats of his heart. The page shook in his slightly trembling hands as he opened the last fold like a story book. He gasped. Instead of a house in the center, the towering mech became the pillar of the scene; one side blue, one side the brilliant pink. Under the gargantuan foot, his name displayed in black Cyrillic: Виктор. He had drawn his own nightmare and signed it too.

“So, you knew my parents…well…” Victor strained for any other reply. She just placed the only artifact of his childhood in his hand and he still couldn’t remember when he drew this.

“I was the android engineer and chief of construction. Your parents’ right hand.” She hesitated. The scrambling for words plain on her face. With a dry swallow, she started again, “I was there…at the end.”

“Mila…”

“But, if we are to get you out of the city, we don’t have near enough time for that.” Mila flipped the picture over and Victor caught the data stick taped to the back. she replaced the drawing in his palm with the stick, closing it tightly. “When you get to a safer place, there’s a slot for one of those old lighters should be beneath the dash. Put this in there. It’ll explain some things. I hope.” She smiled at Victor’s nod. “And Victor, what you’re doing here with Yuuri… your parents would…”

“Oi, Mila! Hurry up! We’re ready!” Yuri called through the opening, flipping up the shield on his helmet. “We know where we’re taking them.”

“Oh, where?” Mila tilted her head in curiosity, leading them back out into the garage. The shell of his past would become the pink coating of his future, and Victor stole two more seconds to look down at the photo Mila had placed on the desk one more time, searching for the words Yuri interrupted. Victor hadn’t bothered considering the possibilities of what anyone thought since he’d shown up in Detroit. Not the news. Not Chris. Not Yakov. Not even Dr. Darkschewitz. The two people whose thoughts he had valued most had long ago burned in flames before his eyes until he became the ashen wreckage martyrdom left behind.

He’d tried imagining what emotion either of them would hold in their eyes if he could return home --whatever that looked like -- with Yuuri on his arm. Would it be the light crystal blue of happiness his father got whenever he looked at his mother? Would it be the warm, welcoming brown of his mother? A look that he’d seen Yuuri give as well. Or would it be the look they had on the stage just before takeoff? The one that smiled without a glimmer of genuineness. Would it be the eyes that looked at him when he talked about the lark? Or the ones that warned about the starling?

“Indiana.” Yuri’s voice claimed Victor from the rampant clumsy thoughts and plopped him back into the driver’s seat of reality.

“Indiana?” Mila reached through the driver’s side where the window was rolled down. “Nobody wants to go to Indiana. It’s just corn and radiation and sadness.”

“Exactly why they will be going there! Ship will probably think they’d go to Chicago, or even Cleveland. They wouldn’t suspect someone like Victor to choose Indiana.”

“And we still have a contact in Indianapolis.” Otabek situated himself on his bike, teetering back and forth before stretching his leg to balance there.

All the rest of the talk became background as Victor met Yuuri’s eyes. Victor mouthed the words, “Are you ready?” and felt his heart flutter as Yuuri gave an enthusiastic nod, hair flailing adorably. He motioned over to the car. Loudly, the car handle clicked as Victor pulled it open, holding it wide for Yuuri to sit down.

“You drive?” the question came out in more of an anxious hiss than the obvious concerned whisper Yuuri obviously intended, shown by the wide-eyed gape on his face, hand quivering at the end. Victor nodded enough times to make clear to the heavens he knew how to drive, shutting the door with a soft pat as he ensured Yuuri was tucked safely in his seat.

Everything fell silent as Victor sank into the warm leather. With a crank of the key, the ignition turned and the engine purred, vibrating along with the excitement up Victor’s leg. He let his hands loosely grip the wheel, suddenly feeling like a pirate steering through a storm. He could feign adeptness long enough to make it to Indianapolis. Really, it hadn’t been that long since Yakov tossed him into his polluting antique Volga and claimed Victor wasn’t going to be one of those auto-dependents who couldn’t even get to the other side of Petyr without some droid. His parents piloted a giant mech, for Christ’s sake, Yakov wouldn’t disrespect their memory not showing him how to drive.

“Here.” Yuri shoved his hand through the space between the seats before Victor could blink, his eyes following the item in his hand. A soft knitted beige cap lay between his fingers. “Put it on. You need something to cover up your hair, old man.” Yuri didn’t give a second for response before he chucked something over to Yuuri. “You too.”

Yuuri placed the pair of glasses over his eyes, the thick blue rims more fitting than Victor ever thought possible. His eyes looked even more youthful and doe-like, the blue complimenting his olive tone. A perfect disguise for a drive. No Synthetic needed glasses.

“One more thing.” Mila tossed a small cap like button to Victor. “Fixed the problem with the emitter’s shorting out if you place more than one on. This one can be put on when you need to change out.” She winked and Victor offered him thanks with a smile.

As they peeled out of the drive, Victor looked back. Mila gave one more genuine smile for the road. Through the rearview mirror, Victor watched the magic fade into the distance.

**

Whoever decided to use the stars for directions, neglected to mention the uniformity that all stars took from the lonely highway of U.S. Route 31. Some of them twinkled fiercer, appeared bigger, but none of them shouted out any sign of north, or in Victor’s case as he stared up at the light speckled sky, south. Hours had passed since Yuri and Otabek gave their last wave and sent them down the sloping way outlined in the map now clutched in Yuuri’s hands.

No usual route would do. The closer that dawn threatened to encroach, the more precarious their situation became. Signs marked the highway, and in a few turns, they had successfully navigated the deserted roads until only a straight line lay between them and Indianapolis. One blue rectangle after the next told the same tune. With a white stripe of paint crossed out and the word, “Radiation” scribbled unceremoniously over the top, Victor took notice to detour from those exits.

Victor fidgeted with the dial on the radio. Turning back and forth as each channel gave the same shrieking static as the next. He moved quickly, careful to not stay too long and break Yuuri from his conservation efforts. Yuuri’s face, blanketed luminescent in the moonlight, looked the most peaceful it had since before they entered the Arena. Twenty-four hours had changed them from victors to rogues. Who knew what they’d be in the next forty-eight?

 _“Kokomo Z92.5, This is Stella for the starlight hours, keeping it old school in the new age with the feel good!”_ The radio host’s chipper and smooth voice stripped the clumsy thoughts from Victor’s mind. At least his mind had the decency to keep it in kilometers per hour and not miles, he mused.

“Kokomo?” Victor nudged his elbow against Yuuri’s arm. “Neh, Yuuri, do you think it’s like that really old beach song?”

“Victor, we’re in Indiana. I don’t think there’s a beach here,” Yuuri replied grouchily.

“It’d be nice if there was a beach. A castle by the sea.” Victor smiled warmly at the thought, the taste of sea salt already on his tongue.

“Mmm. Victor, I’m trying to save my energy. I need to go into sleep mode.” Yuuri shifted lower into the seat, letting his head rest against the window. Victor had every intention of letting Yuuri slip into a lower energy stasis, until his stomach betrayed him. A low elastic grumble gurgled and squelched. Even if Victor’s leg was mechanical, his stomach certainly wasn’t.

The more aware of his stomach he was, the more insistent it became. “Hungry. Starving.” Victor amassed all his pout to give Yuuri the most pitiable of looks.

“Is there any place around here?” Yuuri indented himself more into the seat, placing his hands in a prayer for a pillow.

“It looks like a missile exploded here.” Smog eddied up over the hood, rolling thick clouds, yellowed with pollution over the road. What was left of Kokomo was barely salvageable, a place fallen through the crack of war as it widened into a hole left behind. Driving past a bombed out superstore, Victor wondered if there was anything but a radioactive husk left in this town. If there had been any beaches, war and time had dried up any remnants of active water or sand. Nothing resembled life, but Victor supposed that could be the because the early morning before dawn had let out its first breath. Most of the views from the sidelines resembled a gigantic crater farm. Yet, as they entered the glass door of the only open sign remaining, Victor gasped.

“They called this a palace,” Victor whispered, setting his tray down on the table.

“Cone Palace.” Yuuri pointed to the flickering light traced sign as he slid into the booth.

Nothing of the dingy blue walls felt anything near royalty, but before Victor had a chance to consider a sarcastic retort, he was neck deep in fried goods. Savoring the last bits of breaded pork loin crumbs from his fingers, he felt the heat of Yuuri’s pensive eyes penning words he didn’t know on his face. All the time spent rushing now rocked back and forth, cradling this moment to Victor’s lulled, dozy expression as he met Yuuri’s wondering stare.

“How long has it been since you’ve ate?” Yuuri picked up his own sandwich.

The food slid down his throat in one greasy swallow as he thought back to the last moment of mastication. “Chris shared something with me on the way to the club.” Victor placed a reminder he’d surely forget in the back of his mind to thank Chris for giving him something.

“Do you think Phichit and Chris know? They were at the club before…” Yuuri’s eyes strayed to the ground as if it could absorb the guilt.

“Mmm…I don’t know. They’re both smart. Chris’s flight was early this morning.”

“It’s better like this, I think.” Victor’s brow quirked skeptically at Yuuri’s words. Heat flooded Yuuri’s face and his eyes dipped down, his lashes batting back what Victor could only assume was embarrassment. “I mean, they don’t have to lie now.” Yuuri’s statement hit Victor as the anvil on top of his own conscience.

“What’re you doing there!” the clerk screamed over the counter. In a flash of fear, Victor whipped his head around. He peered over, seeing behind the register, the clerk sniveled at someone, feminine from the slight bone structure, though the odd placed coat over her shoulders obscured some form enough Victor couldn’t be sure.

The crack in her soft voice told him though, “Please, I just need…” she held one spindly arm out before she hit the floor.

“Damned, junkies!” the clerk pounded the register with his fist before turning to press the screen behind him.

A whirl of wind and Yuuri leapt over the table, sneakers squeaking beneath as he rushed to her side. Victor watched, slowly rising himself and with barely a clack on the tile steps coming closer to Yuuri until he stood over top. The tips of Yuuri’s fingers gingerly pushed strands away, her brown wisps fell behind her neck, revealing the black heart beneath her ear.

“She’s not a junkie! She’s a synthetic. She’s malfunctioning, badly.” Yuuri looked back at Victor, a desperate plea in his eyes, lip trembling with merging terror and empathy.

Without thinking, Victor tugged Yuuri’s shoulder, nodding out the wide glass windows to the car outside. “Yuuri, get me the box.” He crouched down next to the woman.

“What are you going to do? You’re not an engineer. I can help!” Yuuri planted his feet.

Through the silver strands impeding his vision, Victor shot a look of sheer incredulity. Were all Synthetics programmed with stubbornness? “Just, please! Hurry.” Victor didn’t have time to explain how he knew to run a diagnostic. It wasn’t a blip before Yuuri returned with Minami’s blue box held on his side, arm wrapped around.

Time unwound around him. Victor peeled back the patch of skin on the woman’s forearm, revealing the metal casing of her arm, and the circular opening. The device plugged in easy enough, and he booted it up. It whirred loudly, a black and white metronome rocking back and forth until it read out and Victor spoke aloud with it, “Lower abdominal obstruction.” He let out a relieved sigh. “Good, at least it’s nothing wrong with the coding. Just the mechanism. Hand me the wire diffuser, Yuuri.”

“The mechanism, Victor…” Yuuri’s face teetered between fascination and bewilderment, but he handed over the tool anyways.

“Yes.” Victor gently nudged her shirt upward, “Sitting for long periods of time can jam up the lines so the wire clogs completely, eventually making moving impossible.” He pressed his finger into her naval. It parted, and Victor attached the diffuser to the wire just below where he pushed.

“I know. I’m a synthetic!” Yuuri puffed his chest out before deflating. “How do you know?”

“A lot of older models had this issue. I guess they never found a solution when they created synthetics, huh?” For every perverse eyeroll he ever gave Dr. Darkschewitz, he couldn’t deny his fascination with the inner mechanics. Everything faded to just the metal clicking and gears shifting until the diffuser pinged with completion.

The woman’s eyes popped open and she flung herself into sitting, grabbing her chest with a start. “What-What happened?” she blinked rapidly.

“I..umm..” the clerk rubbed his neck sheepishly, “I mighta mistook you for a junkie. But, these two saved you. What luck, right?”

Victor smiled warmly. “It was only an abdominal obstruction. Don’t sit too long, you might rust!”

“Victor!” Yuuri flushed, smacking both sides of his face with his hands.

“Ah, it’s alright.” The woman laughed sweetly, and as Victor put out his hand to help her up, she stated, “I am owned by the national symphony. Concert pianist.” The woman took his outstretched hand, pulling her up.

Shortly after, she waved goodbye and offered more than too many thank yous, the gnawing pain he’d held at bay while focusing on the road crept back in, seating itself right next to the exhaustion threatening to claim him. He dragged himself over and dropped back into the booth, picking at the meager amount of food left. Soon, he once more felt himself being watched, and surely as he glanced up, Yuuri’s eyes were honed in like he was running a computer scan. “What? Is something on my face?” Victor pressed his hand to his face, feeling for any particle.

“No. Eh, with the Synthetic back there.” Yuuri stabbed something deep fried with his fork, oil bleeding out onto the plate beneath. “Thank you.”

“Oh! You’re welcome!”

“You cook. You can use skynetics. You drive. You just reprogrammed an android…”

“Yes?” Victor asked stiffly.

“Oh! N-nothing. It’s just surprising, that’s all!”

“I enjoy learning. You never know what might become inspiration. Even yourself!”

“Hah?”

Victor leaned in, letting the lilt of his voice take on a sensuous tone. “You’re very surprising yourself, Yuuri. I keep pulling back layer by layer and each time I find something new.”

“So, are you saying I’m like an onion?” Yuuri stuffed a handful of fries in his mouth.

“I suppose I am.” Victor laughed at himself. Then, like his ears had found a nightingale in the forest, Yuuri laughed, building slowly until his head tilted back and he erupted in a fit of giggles. Victor’s heart blossomed at the sound, bathing in that laugh, so pure and unabandoned. He would bottle it up and hold it forever if he could. But he couldn’t, so he joined him laughing instead.

The way Yuuri laughed and smiled. It varied. Victor never knew if it was a programmed response, but sometimes his eyes didn’t shine like they did now. Sometimes they only appeared happy because Yuuri was supposed to be happy. Victor drew Yuuri’s hands into his own, making soft circles with his thumb over Yuuri’s knuckle. At least, even if the Kokomo from the song was fake, Yuuri’s smile shone upon his heart, like sunshine on crashing waves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> Whew! It's been...checks notes...a bit. I am so sorry for the absence.  
> Thank you so much for reading! The past few months have been basically every 2k20/21 meme available but I am back! This chapter had me writing from my home town, and the places are actual places I have frequented. I hope you enjoy and will continue to enjoy the story!
> 
> If you are from 18oi and reading know I love you and I miss you! 
> 
> My husband and I have started a Café discord for all the things and fandoms we love. If you are over 18, please come by! br />  
> [Coffee and Tutti’s Love Cafe ](https://discord.gg/5AYe8jp)
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	20. Defective: Appendage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music for the Chapter  
> [ Sexy Boy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A_ulZiob5I0)  
> [Secrets ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2qAo9_LVT4k)

Checking into the sleazy hotel proved less bothersome than Victor imagined. Just before the entrance, a plastic pink flamingo perched proudly with one leg drawn back, its beak opening wide around the “CASH ONLY” sign. Any lingering tremors of anxiety were assuaged by the absurdity of the display. The bird’s bulbous black eye reflected Victor’s elated grin as they walked through the springy frail door. Victor would have been a tad taken aback by the interior had he not been so amused. They were met by the suspicious eyes of the woman at the desk, who looked like she regarded all occupants as clandestine scoundrels from a show cemented in the age where thick black boxes projected stories upon screens. Victor smiled graciously. She did not smile back. Instead, she only asked how many nights, the scowl on her face making the wrinkles that more prominent. Victor paid the woman, thanking himself for, at least this once, listening to Yakov’s advice: always carry some of the physical currency of whichever country he was traveling within. Mila was right, paper was better now.

Upon entering the room with the click of a key, Victor realized the entire motel was fixed in one point in time: the era of boxy and appalling design. The amoeba patterns of the funeral couch floral print comforters had lost their appeal long before Victor had ever been created, or Yuuri designed for that matter. Wallpaper still clung to the wall, sporting the small pink roses between what wasn’t peeling nor stained with water, age, or something Victor really didn’t want to consider. At some point, the interior design was meant to feel homey, but the disenchantment rendered Victor a stranger, sinking his toes in the sand of a foreign land. In the middle above the rickety bed hung a print of a flamingo pecking at a pond. The water rippled outward, flowing until the end of the page. And there beneath it, sat Yuuri.

He wiggled, the springs in the mattress protesting with a loud squeak that made Yuuri flush an adorable shade of pink. Victor didn’t know how much of the past Yuuri was programmed to know, but a mattress that creaked from having seen more action than the last world war probably wasn’t a piece of the world he was familiar with.

If it were possible for Yuuri to fidget more than usual, he was now. Thumbs played a personal game of war winding around and back over; Victor didn’t know if he was trying to win or lose, but he’d grant Yuuri the courtesy of pretending not to notice. Baring one more unpresumptuous look around the drab room he exclaimed, “Wow. What true American hospitality!” Victor tossed his bag atop a dusty desk, decorated with only one frail lamp, which shook like a tree in a storm as the bag landed with a thud. The hard sound startled him, and Victor flashed a worried eye over to the bag. A hard-rectangular outline brought back the memory of stowing Minami’s kit into the bag before taking off for the remaining distance after Kokomo. Right. He’d need that soon enough for his own leg.

Somewhere between Detroit and Indianapolis he had grown accustomed to the pain, numbed by the flight response until Victor nearly forgot the jumbling bolts rattling inside his leg every few steps were abnormal. Now in the temporary safety, as he twisted to stand, his body reminded him of all the pressure he’d been putting on it to keep himself balanced, to drive.

“There’s only one bed.” Yuuri flitted his eyes from Victor to the flattened pillows.

Victor slipped his shoes off, glancing up curiously at Yuuri. Attempting to alleviate the anxiety-steeped eyes that he had come to adore as just one color in the vast array, Victor stepped over, sliding his fingers gently under Yuuri’s jaw. He lifted his face until their eyes met, and placed one chaste kiss, pressing just enough to sense the need beginning to build hot inside before pulling back, “Does there need to be another?”

“Eh? Uh...no…it’s just…”

“What, Yuuri?”

“Well, we’ve never…in a bed…like this…” Yuuri’s sparkling, searching eyes filled in the rest. True, the last bed they were in was in a much more clinical setting. No matter how much they dressed up the place, SHIP couldn’t mask the stale scent of antiseptic that left Victor’s skin crawling.

“Oh! Right. That’s exciting, right? The contact won’t be here until tomorrow. We can take our time.” Victor kissed Yuuri’s lips one more time, savoring the swirl of his tongue. His leg could wait. His blood was rushing to another region anyways. “Let me show you my love.” Victor pulled his face up just enough to read Yuuri’s expression, waiting for any sign to continue.

Before, it was a frenzy of emotions and climax spilling in the adrenaline aftermath of a win. But here, Victor could take his time. Lap at the essence of everything that is Yuuri until he was a mess of tangled sheets and soft hands clutching desperate into the blankets. He could lick lines of love all over the soft flawless skin and watch Yuuri unravel thread by trembling thread until Victor could feel every fiber that pulsed ecstasy through Yuuri. That made Yuuri moan and cry out in pleasure, beg even. Oh yes, Victor thought, that would be very nice indeed.

His carnality mixed with his sentimentality until Victor was near panting, a sheen of sweat glistening his forehead. He loomed over Yuuri, spurred by the desire not just to taste, gnawing and gnashing, but savor the saltiness that somehow mirrored itself on his skin. Victor was a starved man just beginning to nibble on a feast.

“Yes.” Yuuri shuddered a breath and Victor let out his own he didn’t even know he was holding. “Please.” The end of the Yuuri’s plea was broken by Victor crashing his lips back down, hands pushing beneath Yuuri’s shirt until it pooled at his neck, his cute pink nipples pebbling. Victor circled his finger around them, smirking at the results of his effort.

Time and space were absolved from surrounding them, fading out of mind until they floated on passion alone. Victor kissed over the soft flat planes of Yuuri’s chest, lips charting out every spot that made Yuuri jerk. His tongue slid over his navel and Victor heard the crackling gasp of surprise as he drug his tongue lower and lower, until his mouth tasted the metal of Yuuri’s pants button. As quick and nimble as a ballerina, his fingers danced over the seam of Yuuri’s jeans until Victor popped the button open. Yuuri’s breath hitched and Victor’s heart soared, his own cock twitching with interest.

Yuuri canted his hips, tossing his head into the comforter. Victor curved his hand around the waistband of Yuuri’s jeans and underwear, tugging them off with a few jagged pulls. Something ignited that basic instinct in Victor as he flung the clothes haphazardly behind him, too concerned with the cutest cock he’d ever seen pulsing up and landing with a flop of Yuuri’s belly than with the peculiars of maintaining wrinkle free apparel. He needed this. He needed Yuuri entirely.

Without a breath between moments, Victor was back to Yuuri. Back to kissing Yuuri’s brow, his cheek, his jaw, his shoulder as Victor’s hand reached lower to wrap around Yuuri’s cock, pumping lazy, soft strokes up and down. He smiled as Yuuri trembled and jolted beneath him, his arousal growing thick and pulsing with every motion. Victor picked up the pace, grip firmer but not enough to burn under the dry friction.

In the span of his life, Victor had seen beauty; rare sculptures in museums, the sheer mesmerizing ice before any blade scratched the surface, the clayed horizon at dusk as the river ran through the sun when he jogged on the Tuchkov bridge. Yuuri eclipsed them all. Here, as Yuuri’s abs drew taught and stuttered, hand over his mouth muffling a gasp, lips parted in the exasperation of the lust coiling rapidly, black hair fanned around as his eyes clenched shut, his cheeks bruised red, Yuuri was the most beautiful. Victor laughed a little. The second time in a day he’d thought this, but it was impossible to think anything else. He could think it and say it every minute, and it would still not be enough.

Victor ran his other hand up the cashmere soft skin of Yuuri’s legs squeezing the meatiness of his rounded thighs meeting the swelling hills of his ass. It was intoxicating. Slowly, he lowered himself until he knelt before the alter of Yuuri’s thighs, nearly singing gospel as those soft thighs fell open. Victor would praise at the altar of this divine sight with his mouth until the heavens sang and Yuuri cried to whatever deity he chose. There wasn’t a religion better than Yuuri. He swiped his tongue over the head of his cock, letting the wetness slick and glide over until he could take him whole.

Eyes wide, Yuuri choked out a gasp. “Victor, I… I can’t.”

“Can’t what?” Victor barely let his lip leave the head as he tilted his head.

“I won’t…finish.” Even Yuuri’s ears blushed pink.

“Does it feel good?” Victor gave a few measured strokes, testing.

“Y-yes. I…I’ve never…had this…” Yuuri’s bottom lip quivered, a blossom of rosed hues blushing from his cheeks down his neck and over his chest.

“Then let me be your first.” Victor kissed the top of Yuuri’s brow before going back down. “I’ll make sure you finish.”

“But I…I want…” Yuuri’s body tensed as Victor ran his tongue along his shaft, smiling as he took the head of Yuuri’s cock whole into his mouth. “I want you in me,” Yuuri burst out in a punch of air.

Victor was back up with a snap, his hair a wave of silver tumbling until it tickled Yuuri’s cheek. “Of course. Leave it to me.”

Victor felt the last bit of tension leave as Yuuri surrendered fully, his body relaxing into Victor’s touch. It was the first time Victor could remember Yuuri being completely at his will. Even in the first moments of meeting, Yuuri maintained a guarded wall, only conceding what was necessary for his function. Now his body near melted as Victor took him into his mouth, bobbing up and down in long, languid movements. And Yuuri was there, gazing down from dark lidded lashes, looking at Victor half bewildered, and half like he was finally saved, home.

The feeling of shock traveled from his heart to his cock and he was rock hard almost instantly as he looked at Yuuri’s face. Yuuri lay near boneless in the sheets, utterly blissed with heavy, stuttered pants through kiss puckered lips, the seams of composure ripping apart. His first blow job. Victor didn’t need any of Yuuri’s first, but he couldn’t help but feel his heart swell with warmth at being the first to experience Yuuri looking like this. Possibly the only person if Victor’s silver laced wishes came true.

Victor continued the steady roll of his tongue laving over all the sensitive area of Yuuri’s cock until Yuuri was near mad with twitches. He watched Yuuri’s face curl into a pout as he pulled off his cock, only to twist a hundred and eighty degrees into an expression of pure hunger when Victor popped the button on his jeans. A thick sigh of relief expelled from Victor’s chest when his strained dick was finally freed, standing proudly as he discarded the remainder of his clothes. He couldn’t be bothered to account for where anything lay besides Yuuri, so soft and pliant under his touch, trembling with anticipation. Victor let his fingers run playfully on the side of Yuuri’s hips, under his ass, and soft stretch of whatever components made up Yuuri’s skin he could reach.

“Vi-Victor,” Yuuri whined, biting his lip so hard Victor wondered if he would bleed for a moment before remembering he was staring down at a synthetic. A dazzling, glittery-eyed synthetic who was looking at him not only with the bare bones of lust, but with the flesh of love as well. Letting the feeling of their love wash over himself, Victor teased his entrance with his cock, putting in just the tip and pulling back, adjusting to the overwhelming feeling of being enveloped in that tight wet heat. He sunk in slowly with steady, shallow thrusts, bending down to entangle Yuuri in another mess of kisses. Victor’s lips tingled as he drew out each kiss with tenderness. And Yuuri tried to press his hips downward impatiently as Victor went slow once more, “Victor…nghhh…you don’t have to take your time.”

“No,” he kissed Yuuri reassuringly, his voice low and choked by arousal. “I want to. You deserve to feel everything real and decide if you want it as a Synthetic.”

Not a heartbeat had passed before Yuuri’s fingers raked through Victor’s hair, the ends of his fringe darkened by sweat. And then he yanked Victor closer, mouth hot and wet. Yuuri’s kiss was all tongue and no breath. Desperate. Needy. Demanding. Clutching onto Victor’s neck urgently every time Victor thrusted deeper, angled higher until he hit the spot that made Yuuri’s back bow and bend beautifully upwards, chest sticking to chest. Victor panted and groaned, pulling out and slamming back in, earning a high-pitched whine as Yuuri gripped the sheets tightly. The sheer sight of such a debauched Yuuri nearly toppled Victor over the edge of climax, but he couldn’t tolerate even a sliver of a divide between their bodies. In one smooth movement, Victor wrapped his arms around Yuuri’s back and pulled him into an embrace, never wavering the pace of his cock jutting in and out of Yuuri. Hard and fast, then tauntingly slow, teasing Yuuri until his face contorted with the strain of stretching his pleasure.

With every pull and snap of his hip, Victor’s cock throbbed as he drove further in, breath hitching. He was panting, so engulfed in the fire of pleasure that Yuuri’s body kept burning through him over and over. Yuuri’s hips strained and twitched; the cock bouncing on his abdomen only making Victor more ravenous. He’d have to time this right for the full effect. Give Yuuri something he’s never had before. Surprise him. The tendrils of orgasm stretched as Victor gripped Yuuri’s hips and quickened his pace, racing to finish -- two more deep pumps and he was spilling white hot seed deep inside.

Yuuri was gyrating, iterations of Victor’s name broken up through gasps. He was no longer trying to please, lost in a pleasure only Victor could provide. In a quick exchange, Victor pulled out and flopped on his belly, his mouth back on Yuuri’s cock, engulfing until the weight settled heavy. He flattened his tongue, head bobbing and weaving as Victor’s hand held the base.

“Ah…I’m…Victor!!!” the last scream echoed in the room as Yuuri’s body clenched and spasmed, the tremors of an orgasm ripping his soul nearly out of his body, come spilling down Victor’s throat as he sucked him through each wave.

Wiping the remnants of come from the sides of his mouth, Victor climbed until he was nestled at Yuuri’s side, rubbing small soothing circles on his belly as the waves of orgasm ebbed further away. “How was it?”

“You…you just drank your own come.” Yuuri’s exasperated voice squeaked out.

“No, I gave you my come. It was yours when I swallowed.”

“Victor! I’m not even supposed to do that!”

“Says who?”

“I guess no one now,” Yuuri replied grimly. Victor barely registered Yuuri’s sigh before his body went weightless, succumbing to his sleep debt.

Darkness swirled, rocking waves in his slumber but never crashing into the terrorizing grips of his nightmares. He wished for pleasant dreams of sunsets and sand chasing after the dark-haired beauty with eyes like fire in the dead of night. Though he could forgive his exhaustion for the nothingness of a dreamless sleep. There was peace in nothing.

Even more peace came when he blinked open his eyes, finding his wish fulfilled as those deep dark eyes looked down warmly at him. He met them with a smile of his own. “Mmm.” Victor managed to groan out.

“Morning.” Yuuri plopped down on the edge of the bed, rolled up charging pad held in his arm.

“Morning? How long did I sleep?”

“About eighteen hours.” Yuuri scooched a little closer, letting his hip rest against Victor’s shin.

“Eighteen hours! I’ll never recover!”

“Victor! You have to sleep!”

It was unfair how cute Yuuri looked with his hair askew and the glasses not set on his face, accentuating his already gorgeous eyes. Victor snaked his arm around Yuuri’s middle, dragging him until Yuuri fell on his back on the mattress. “Less time to squish you!” As Victor brought his hands up to attempt to find out just how ticklish a Synthetic could be, all of the misuse of his body revenged itself tenfold. His muscles stiffened, bones creaking as he muttered a curse under his breath. 

“You…you’re hurt! And we did all that traveling and then last night we did all that!”

“Yuuri! It’s fine.” It wasn’t fine, but Yuuri’s frantic eyes didn’t lend to Victor wanting to pile on another problem to the top of their ever-mounting list of impending difficulties. “I need to find something to eat. I’m starving!”

Yuuri’s eyes sharpened. “I can find you something for breakfast!”

“Yuuri…your heart.” Victor pointed at his neck. Somewhere in the hours since their escape, Yuuri’s face was sure to show up on the national alerts for defectives. The possibility of anyone attaching the heart on his neck to his face was a risk Victor wasn’t willing to take.

“I can at least ask the front desk if they know who takes cash around here.”

“Okay, Yuuri. You should slick your hair back, too.” Victor smiled as Yuuri gave on focused nod, running his hands through his dark tresses until the fell down the back of his head delicately. With his hood over his head, and glasses on, no one would give a second glance that he was the mussed haired defective from the screen.

With the room empty of Yuuri’s presence for the moment, Victor took stock of his priorities. He nabbed the kit out of his bag and rested against the headboard. One good thing of sleeping naked was it made this part feel less vulnerable, he’d already been halfway prepared. From the outside, everything at least appeared normal, but as he pressed the button inside his thigh, the mechanism sputtered slowly open, the diagnostic rod protesting as his struck up skyward. It looked like it was waving a white flag. Victor gulped, hard.

The diagnostic whirred the same way it always did, no matter who plugged it in. He grit his teeth at the hushed, grinding sound until the beep. The grey box read out: Right femoral crack. Great, he’d have to further open his leg and solder it back together before it split entirely. He could hear some of the other busted bits clanging around now that his leg was open.

Before he could fish for the necessary tools, the door swung wide. Victor snapped his head up, caught like a deer before prey. “Neh, Victor, look! They had coffee and donuts!” The glass shattered on the concrete just outside the door before Victor could even hope to cover up his leg. The coffee pooled black like an oil spill at the end of Yuuri’s foot where he froze, wide-eyed and gaping mouth at the titanium piece sticking out of Victor’s leg. “You…you’re…” he stammered, “What are you?” His voice barely breathed out, horrified, but the accusation was clear in the tone. Victor’s hair stood on end. He couldn’t possibly be more bare but he needed time to show him. Time that Yuuri’s feet inching backwards wouldn’t permit.

All the attempts to propel himself at the door left him toppled over on the bed sheets. Victor couldn’t let Yuuri go. “Yuuri, it’s not what you think…”

“You lied to me!” he shrieked, and Victor’s heart punched a pain so deep it left him breathless. “You told me! You let me believe you were human! What are you? Are you with SHIP?”

“No, Yuuri, please! Listen to me.” He let himself fall to the floor, crawling with every ounce of energy he could muster.

“I’m not…I’m not being taken! I’m not going back!” Every inch closer, Yuuri backed up.

“Please, I’m still Victor!”

“NO! Victor’s human. Victor’s real! You’re not!” The door slammed shut before Victor could get another breath, Yuuri gone with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? Two Chapters in under 24 hours?
> 
> Yes!
> 
> And so it begins...
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed the chapter! If you have the spoons for it, I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments! Be well!
> 
> Tutti
> 
> My husband and I have started a Café discord for all the things and fandoms we love. If you are over 18, please come by! br />  
> [Coffee and Tutti’s Love Cafe ](https://discord.gg/5AYe8jp)
> 
> If you’d like to follow me for updates on Twitter or Tumblr, please click below!  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/tutti_writes)  
> [Tumblr](https://tutsibug.tumblr.com/)


	21. Defective: Maps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor searches for Yuuri on the Indianapolis streets and runs into familiar faces....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music for the Chapter  
> [My Tears Richochet](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OWbDJFtHl3w)  
> [Bury It](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BDbaxitX5bI)

Twenty minutes since the door slammed shut. Twenty minutes was all it took for Victor to ramp up the melder, find the splint, and secure the break. Twenty minutes was too long.

He’d examined and re-examined all the reasons he had pushed off telling Yuuri. In the beginning, he thought Yuuri needed time to adjust to him first, to know him and to trust him. Then, coaching took priority. The more he became a part of the world of Synthetic, the less abnormal his leg felt, until his leg worked like any other appendage, only a background reflex that enabled his motion. To say he’d completely forgotten would extinguish the entirety of the truth; the fact he could not deny in the lonely empty hotel room was he didn’t want to tell. He’d been irreverently stubborn about it, waiting for the dial to turn to the perfect moment to divulge what he never wanted to say. The idea of perfection now soured his stomach.

Moments before their salvation in Detroit, Victor had, due to fear and impulse, breached the edge of revealing his leg to Yuuri. Now, as Victor stared at his tanned reflection in the muddy puddle of coffee outside the hotel door, he wished he’d been successful then. But what could he say after? Showing the leg took a mere second but there was no concise explanation for why his leg was metal and not bone. Victor kicked the puddle at the thought, bits of brown liquid flinging onto the pink hood of the car.

Yuuri, at least, had left on foot. Indianapolis wasn’t the epicenter of robotics and research that led to a quick rebuild like Detroit, but it wasn’t the hollowed-out crater of Kokomo either. The buildings mounting up the skylines still remained cracked at the peak, but the foundations were newly set. Grey to grey, the stone drove any of the color out from the city’s center until even the people littering the street appeared sallow and dusted in soot. Victor skirted along the edges of the sidewalk; eyes cast down as he readjusted to the weight of gravity with his fixed leg.

Victor exhausted the slim possibilities of directions Yuuri might have darted to in an hour of searching on foot. Alleys, corners, behind dumpsters, every darkened spot Victor imagined turned up a dead end. He returned to the hotel, slumped over himself until he looked like a hook; he certainly felt like he’d been snatched by Davy Jones and was now being dragged by tentacles to the locker’s icy depths. He might as well face the loneliness seeping into his heart again head on. Readying the key between his fingers, he staggered the last few feet before he pushed for the hole, only to find the door already sprung ajar.

“Yuuri!” the door flew the rest of the way open.

Green eyes blinked up at him curiously. “I didn’t know you could look ugly, Victor.” Chris’s tawdry grin was met with a mix of relief and disappointment, the remark fallen on completely deaf ears. Victor’s face fell, his eyes drooping as his heart plummeted into the worn carpet.

“Chris! What are you doing here?” Victor blurted out the question before he could gather any of his wits about him. He made an attempt at brightening his expression only to see that Chris had turned his attentions to Phichit, who seemed to appear out of thin air but Victor realized he must have been slightly out of his peripheral.

“I made it to the airport before security tried to bed me. Wouldn’t even take me to dinner before they put me in a holding room.” Chris’s mouth widened in a feigned offense while the edges of his eyes twinkled with mischief. “Tried to take me to SHIP for questioning when the one-two knights on neon horses saved the day.”

“Otabek and Yurio! Wow!” Victor cupped his hand over his mouth, leaning against the doorframe.

Chris casually flicked his wrist and held open his palm. “Phichit met me at the shop.”

All of the speculation over what would happen to their friends came pouring through his mind. What Minami said. What SHIP would do. More pressingly frightening, what SHIP could do. He glanced at Phichit, finally taking a moment to observe his countenance. The same glazed expression of joy rested on Phichit’s face, the same warm openness that he greeted everyone with. “You left SHIP?” Victor had to clarify. Of everything he knew of Phichit, from the easy-going smile to the way he monitored his levels, none of this indicated a Synthetic willing to risk being declared defective.

“They don’t know I’ve left SHIP and my chip is still intact.” Phichit tapped the emitter on his neck, his smile easing the rush of worry.

“Unlike Yuuri. Speaking of…” Chris looked around the room, leaning back until his jacket folded into the comforter, attempting to stretch his neck to see into the bathroom.

“Yeah, where is Yuuri? I thought you’d both be in here waiting on the contact.”

Mind, heart, body; everything in Victor’s soul ached from his feet to his frayed nerves. He slinked over into the desk chair, landing with a plop on the cushion. Stuffing fell like snowflakes beneath him, and finally, one shimmering tear dribbled down his pale cheek. He hadn’t felt the true weight crushing him until his head rested in his hands, propping him up from toppling onto the floor. No words, no sounds, nothing came from Victor except one shining crystal tear drop after the next.

“Victor, what happened?” Chris’s voice fluttered in like a cool breeze, enough to hear and send shivers from his leg up to his neck as Victor pondered what to say next.

“We got into a fight. He left.”

“Well, if those two lovely gentlemen up at SHIP were any indication...we need to find him and fix whatever you did, fast.”

Victor could argue that Chris had no merit in heaping the blame onto him, but Chris always observed more than his laissez-faire attitude denoted. It had been the same since he was wide eyed and freckle nosed up on the platform at when Victor first won Worlds. No matter what Victor did, Chris understood without explanation. Chris was the eye in a storm, observing the chaos from the calm. Even now, as Chris rushed up, grabbed the water from the dresser, and handed it to Victor, he only offered a salacious grin and a quick cheeky double entendre before moving to hoist Victor up and set them back out on the road.

“It’s really unfair to look that pretty when you cry,” Chris offered a bit of tissue from his pocket as he swung the door open to their vehicle, “But it’s better than before.” With a chivalrous look, he bowed, swiping his arm low in front of him. “Let’s go find your prince, shall we? Mila sent us a carriage.” Without a moment to reply, Victor hurried into the passenger seat, his arms and legs tucked into the deep blue Jeep.

The dismal, colorless street had not brightened in the apex of noon, though the sun blistered the same. The group worked through the labyrinthine streets of the city, each keeping a relatively low profile as they traveled. Every turn chipped at the hope Victor carried in his chest of finding Yuuri. Faces blurred together, each passersby a vague gauzy blob without a heart beneath their ear. He’d know Yuuri’s face in the midst of a crowd, wouldn’t he? The watery shimmer of the sun coasting over the sea, with the depths of brown an entire nursery of ferns would hope to produce. No one else had those eyes. Not the nameless, monotonous faced humans on the street, all so nondescript, extras in the tragic play which Victor starred in. Not the few and varied easy grinning Synthetics they crossed at the café they entered, in hopes Yuuri’s affinity for food would lead his mind there even if his stomach didn’t need it. No one looked like Yuuri. Not one.

“Hey, what about a club?” Phichit asked, his tone still high in spirits. They stepped down the steep curving steps back to the corner of the sidewalk.

The roasted nuts of a fresh brew at least vivified his senses enough that Victor appeared more lively even though he felt a mere phantasm of himself, a translucent entity roaming without solace. He looked back out onto the crowds. He watched humans hurrying to their homes in mile high apartments, and suddenly he was gripped with homesickness for Russia. Even after the last war obliterated the soil, the historical roots of America still barely sunk below the surface. There existed no historic castles or structural remnants of nearly forgotten times. Yuuri couldn’t get lost in the gardens of Hermitage, and Victor couldn’t expect him to glide stately down a red lined staircase, his curves swaying as his hand barely caressed the banister. What a vision it was to even consider, a daydream so mesmerizing it almost tripped him up on the sidewalk.

“Yeah, he really seemed to like being there with you, Victor.” Chris tipped the paper cup in his hand up, taking a drink while simultaneously nudging Victor’s ribcage with his elbow. Victor tore himself from the image in his mind, the honking horn and screaming drivers enough of a parallel to Russia to sate his pang for home. He knew it wasn’t his motherland he craved anyhow, it was Yuuri.

“But Yuuri doesn’t like large crowds.” Phichit tossed the hood on his jacket up.

“But Yuuri does love to dance. I’ve seen his moves, Victor. He has to be programmed with some training.” Chris’s eyes brimmed over with a hopefulness that ignited Victor’s own.

Cupping his chin, Victor mulled over the words. “Hmmm…training.” Victor paused. Today didn’t mark the first time Yuuri needed time away to think. All those practices Victor arrived to find him doing figures, the repetition seeming to be the balm to whatever brought that fretful look in his eye. “I’ve got it! Does anyone have their phone?”

“No, Yuri threw mine out,” Chris explained, wistfully glancing down the long street.

“I shut my online portion off. Couldn’t risk a hack in.” Phichit shrugged, leaning against the stone wall.

“Then we’ll just have to do what you did pre-devices!” Victor’s vigor began returning tenfold. All his time with Yuuri would be the crumbs to find the prince in whatever version of a castle he locked himself up inside. Whether an ice castle or one of concrete, Victor would swoop in and hopefully win him back over.

“What was that?” Chris lifted his brow.

“Oh, I have no idea.” Victor surveyed the area, searching the deflecting eyes of people walking past, a jolting reminder of the last time he’d gone in search of Yuuri. Humans didn’t seem inclined to offer a connecting look in his direction either. Slowly, attached with a slicing scowl, a man for one second met his puppy eyed plea. A second was just enough for Victor to reach his arm out and offer his adorable, magazine cover smile. “Ah, hello. Do you know where to go to find a map?”

“You ain’t got one of them devices?” The man twisted his head, his shifty eyes roving from Victor to Chris before meeting Phichit’s heart with a curling sneer, “You got a Synthetic there. Ask him.”

“We’re offline and not from around here.” Chris offered his empty hand as proof.

“Not from around here, huh? You planning on leaving soon then?” The man took Chris’s overzealous head shaking as a yes and not the mocking Victor saw it to be as Chris rolled his eyes the moment the man’s head turned. The man’s demeanor changed at that, his face perking up, lines and wrinkles stretching with the near smile he offered Victor, pointing out into the street. “There’s a store owned by some naturalist. You know, one of those. down the road there. Turn at the fountain. Right next to the old bakery. Can’t miss it.”

From the café to the convenience store, the city sank darker. The bland grey faded behind them, the new streets and building’s ashen hued and decaying. Rotting wood splinted off covered doorways, still feeling the ache of the war in its bones. Brick crumbled, falling precariously as they stepped past, quickening their pace around a particularly feeble shop, the blown window’s glass still covering most of the sign, but Victor could make out the word, ”Bakery” on it.

Victor tapped Chris’s shoulder, making a thumbed point at the small flat building just ahead. The fact that it stood sturdy amidst the rubble amazed Victor. Age had scrubbed most of the sign from atop the door, “A”, “SH”, “V”, and “ILI” remained a puzzling set of letters Victor couldn’t begin to piece together. Beyond the typical wear and tear, nothing out of the ordinary struck him upon first look. Two side glass doors covered by wood, along with the windows. It wasn’t until Victor glanced on the side he saw the words spray painted beneath the window: Bot Fucker.

Phichit stalled at the entryway. “Maybe I should stay outside. Keep an eye out for Yuuri.”

A nod of acknowledgement and Victor held the door open for Chris, earning a wink as Chris sauntered through the doorway. Inside, the convenience store offered a meager amount of fresh fruits and vegetables set in old, damp wooden crates. Planks of wood were bolted together along the wall, interspersed with glass cases of different herbs growing tall out of the top. The natural, organic feel of these displays was in stark contrast to the few cheap metal shelving units stacked with brightly wrapped candy bars and other junk food snacks. Further into the shop, there were arrangements of old furniture, antique conversation pieces like grandfather clocks and wooden globes representing Earth. The distinct lack of anyone, Synthetic or otherwise, at the front desk might have alarmed Victor had Chris not held up an eggplant, tossing a seductive look in Victor’s direction as his eyes fell below Victor’s belt. Before Victor could withhold, he let out a loud echoing cackle, the sound surprising him with its unfamiliar note of joy. “Chris! You never change!”

The jingle of a bell and the long winding creak of a door had Victor’s head spinning on instinct, his fingers clenched. A man appeared behind the register. His tall, twiggy figure oddly leaned to one side and as he emerged from behind, the ensemble of a ratty pair of grey sweatpants and a faded blue sweatshirt under a large rough textured coat with an abundance of big pockets, most of which were full came into full view to Victor, who tried to cloak his puzzled look with a warm smile. His face was long with hollowed cheeks but not unpleasant -- though his strongly encroaching stubble and wiry splayed out hair did give him a sort of comedic appearance. His frumpy appearance matched his mannerisms as he fidgeted with his hands, bounding back and forth on his feet as he looked out, “H-Hello? Is someone here?”

“Ah, hello. Do you have a map?” Victor asked warmly.

The man nearly beamed, tossing his arms in the air in personal celebration. “Of course I do! Though it’s pre-war. I haves most of it in my noggin! But I have been wanting to dabble in topography so just allow me.” Another jingle and he disappeared for a beat, long enough for Victor and Chris to exchange curious looks between them. He returned; arms full of folded paper maps. “So, here it is. What were you looking for?”

“Skating rink. Park. Any places someone might skate.” Victor’s blood started to burn hot inside him. The closer he thought himself to finding Yuuri, the hotter it rose until he swore he’d be scorched from within without Yuuri’s cooling presence.

The man brought a magnifying glass from his pocket, putting it over the lines as he ran his finger alongside. “Okay, let me see. Broad Ripple’s mostly ash and rot anymore. More than even here. Some of the bars are rebuilt and the local riff raff hang there, but there’s no place to skate.”

“It would need to be not crowded.”

“Well, that rules out most of downtown. There’s some warehouses and...Oh! Yes there! Somehow none of the bombing got this skating rink.” His finger landed on a mark just beyond the circle.

“That’s not too far from the Flamingo.” Chris looked up at Victor.

“Perfect!”

The man ran his hand through his unruly hair, rubbing the back of his neck cautiously. “One thing..ahhh…be careful. Synthetics don’t last long around these parts.” The edges of his smile grew thin as the man spoke in a hushed tone, “It is a sin to hope.”

“Phichit!” Chris was out the door before Victor could turn around. In a few quick steps, Victor joined him, only to see the fear glazed in his eyes. “He’s gone.” Chris sank further down against the wall, mouth open.

“Maybe he found Yuuri?” Perhaps the question was tinged with desperation, but Victor had to propose something partially happy. He didn’t want to think of anyone, anything, coming for Phichit. Should they go back inside? Maybe the man had some answer other than a cryptic phrase.

“He’d come inside.” There was no sexual insinuation beneath Chris’s words, only the barren blank fact Victor knew to be true.

One rush of a hand and Victor tapped Chris’s chest before calling him to arms.“He can’t be far! We weren’t in there for more than ten minutes.”

“Right. What way do you think he went?” Chris unbound from the tomb inside himself, lifting his hands from his legs and rising at the words.

Every direction looked equally as likely to Victor. He held his breath. He didn’t want to think of where someone would drag Phichit off to, or of who. The only possibility of anyone having a clue rested outside himself. Knowing an Eros like Phichit wouldn’t be to know him as a friend, but a lover, and Victor knew exactly what to say as he turned, placing his hand gently on Chris’s shoulder. “He’s your synthetic.”

“He’s not mine.” Watering, Chris’s eyes drained the truth from his heart.

“Chris…”

“Not now, Victor. No time for eggplant talk.”

“Right.” Victor took off down the direction they initially headed, the smell of corrosion becoming more pungent with each step forward. Yet, he felt a tinge of joy at being able to run at his usual pace, the leg beneath him a solid vessel without cracks. No rattling, only the sound of his feet pounding on the concrete of the sidewalk. Yet, the odor thickened until it tacked like tar in his mouth. What would possibly give off such a stench? Every sharp breath mixed with a scent that left Victor choking. He coughed, grabbing his chest. It smelled like burning oil, mixed with something nauseatingly saccharine. Victor wretched. 

From the alleyway adjacent to them, a sharp terrified screech penetrated through the quiet lull. A high-pitched sound that curdled the blood in Victor’s veins and knotted his chest. Victor shot straight up, his spine straight. He twisted his head all directions, searching for the sound. One small foot, then a blur of blue and a girl ducked out of the alleyway, “Help! Anyone! Please!” She ran faster than Victor’s eyes could track her, only getting a glimpse of her hands clasped around her face as she barreled into Victor head on, clutching to him as if her very existence relied on his touch. He was no priest and could provide no succor, however.

Her face, marred with oil streaming down like black tears, seemed familiar. The way the ends of her hair clung to her face, tainted dark and sticky. As she tilted her head up, shuddering as a new leak started to pour from her scalp, Victor saw her unmistakable eyes. “You…the girl from Kokomo.”

“Huh? Victor? A girl?” Chris nearly spit, his eyes wide and bewildered as he looked at the girl.

“No, we…Yuuri and I, we met her when we stopped in Kokomo.” Victor framed her face in his hands. Her features appeared tiny and frail, cheeks trembling against his palms. “How did this happen?”

“I was…at the symphony. These people appeared as I was packing up. Th-they took me and my friends. T-tried to get into m-my head, but I got away.”

“Junkies.” Chris spoke what Victor knew. The circumstances looked too similar to what had happened to Victor just two nights ago. The idea settled as fast as Chris’s eyes shot wide and frantic. “Did you…did you see anyone else while you were running? Synthetic, young appearance, tan skin, always smiling?”

Finally, she unhinged from Victor’s waist and began to brush herself off, pulling up the tattered pieces of her dress. She shook her head. “No. I just ran. I’m sorry.” She offered a feeble smile. “Where’s Yuuri?”

“Missing, too.”

“Oh. Oh no!” she pulled Victor’s arm. “We have to find them before it’s too late.”

“Too late?” Chris lagged behind a few steps; brows pinched together. Victor didn’t get a chance to make out the reason for his face before he was tugged across the street.

“Yes! How many Synthetics have you seen around here?” the girl barked back tersely.

As Victor thought over all the faces he encountered searching for Yuuri, he noted a distinct lack of hearts. “Not very many.” He stumbled over his feet as she pulled harder, guiding them back towards the alley.

“Did you ever wonder why?” the girl turned off into a narrow alley, barely enough room for a solitary person between the brick of one building to the next. Victor turned to his side, skidding along the wall, listening to the girl’s voice just ahead. “Detroit, Chicago, St. Louis…all have one tried and true thruway for selling the chemical synthetic. Indy. People are set in their mindsets that automation is the enemy here. They’ll believe anyone is the enemy if it’s something uncomfortable enough for them. It’s a perfect environment for culling synthetics.”

A light blinked at the end of the alley way. One time, then two in a row, the bright rays blinding Victor. He flinched, trying to adjust to the bright beams, but every edge of his view was tainted with unwelcomed splotches. Fusing his mind like a welder, the unappetizing scent from before and the lights worked together until it rendered Victor near delirious. It wasn’t until a hand gripped his wrist that he noticed they were headlights. Zipties bound both his wrists, digging into his flesh. He tried to yell, ask questions, but before he could say anything he was pushed forward. Unbalanced, he tripped, his face nearly meeting the blacktop before the man behind him jerked him upwards.

“You get em, Ketty?” a deep husk of a voice behind him asked. Victor twisted his head to see an armed, thick chested man holding onto his arms with the grip of a warrior. All around him people with muscles bursting at the seams and equipped with enough artillery to send Yuri’s mouth gaping, circled through the three vehicles in front of him. A black procession of two smaller sleek cars and one oversized van lined up. It was then he saw Chris behind him, also tied and stumbling forward, next to him the girl he helped, Ketty.

“Of course I did. Played em’ like a violin.” The man detaining Chris tossed her a towel, and Ketty wiped the oil off with ease. “Pretty neat trick, huh Victor?” She cocked her head, a giggle taunting Victor’s strained grunts. “Now be a good boy and get into the van.”

Following orders wasn’t something natural for Victor. He may have seemed calm and easygoing on the outside, but inside was an inferno only burning to follow his own lead. “I saved you! Yuuri and I, we saved you!” Anger, confusion, delirium,every emotion shooting hot through him.His ears rang and head shuddered as he tried to grasp what was happening. Was there no other recourse than to submit himself to wherever they were being taken? He tried to twist out of the bind, only for it to tighten its viper grip around his wrists. They threw Chris in first; he rolled ungraciously to the other end of the compartment, his eyes barely fluttering open before they fell back unconscious.

A heavy footed kick to his back and Victor toppled over into the trunk. He winced and flashed a look of vitriol in Ketty’s direction. Her smile slipped menacingly up, twisting the soft eyes Victor saw in Kokomo to a harsh sharpness with no grace. “Someone should have told you. It is a sin to hope.” She shut the door calmly, pounding twice. The engine started up. Wherever they were going, no matter what anyone said…

Victor had to hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for reading!!!!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> My husband and I have started a Café discord for all the things and fandoms we love. If you are over 18, please come by! br />  
> [Coffee and Tutti’s Love Cafe ](https://discord.gg/5AYe8jp)
> 
> If you’d like to follow me for updates on Twitter or Tumblr, please click below!  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/tutti_writes)  
> [Tumblr](https://tutsibug.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> A little note about the tags: This is a WIP but it is thoroughly plotted. I don't want to post spoilers so some tags will be added as we go along. There is an offhand threat of rape made by an OC in a future chapter. It is not acted upon in the slightest (its really meant to incite fear and is a very empty threat), but since it is a possible trigger I wanted to give fair warning. When that chapter hits I will once again post a warning and leave a summary below. 
> 
> Thank you!!  
> Tutti  
> If you’d like to follow me for updates on Twitter or Tumblr, please click below!  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/tutti_writes)  
> [Tumblr](https://tutsibug.tumblr.com/)


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